GIFT   OF 
MICHAEL  REESE 


1 


m 


ru^r^/rfy^J^//,/r/.^r.  tLV%>^^W^>// 


^MoRE  Tales^from  Tolstoi 


Translated  from  the  Russian  with  an  Enlarcifh 
Biography  of  the  Author,  by 

R.  NISBET  BAIN 


WITH    PHOTOGRAVURE    PORTRAIT 


v>- 


BRENTANO'S 

UNION  SQUARE,  NEW  YORK 

1903 


PR  ESERVATrON 
COPY  ADDED 
OF^IGINAL  TO  BE 
RETAINED 

JAN  27  1994 


ressc 


CONTENTS. 


A/5  ^^ 

MIVkM 


BIOGRAPHY  .  .  -  . 

I.  THE    SNOWSTORM 

JI.  THE   CAPTIVE    IN   THE    CAUCASUS   ' 

III.  HATRED    IS    SWEET,    BUT   GOD    IS    STRONG 

IV.  ELIAS  .... 
V.  THE   TWO    BROTHERS   AND   THE   GOLD 

VI.  THE    CHILDREN   WISER   THAN    THE    ELDERS 

VII.  THE    DEATH    OF    IVAN    IL'iCH 

VIII.  THE    PENITENT    SINNER 

IX.  THREE    DEATHS 

X.  THE    STORY   OF    IVAN    THE    FOOL 


PAGE 

7 
47 


BIOGRAPHY. 

Le<^  Nikolaivich  Tolstoi  was  bom  on  September 
9th,  1828,  at  his  father's  estate,  Yasnaya  Polyana, 
in  the  Government  of  Tula.  His  family  is  said  to 
have  been  of  German  descent,  originally  bearing  the 
somewhat  plebeian  name  of  Dick,'''  which  they  changed 
for  its  Russian  equivalent  Tolsty,  when  they  migrated 
to  Muscovy  at  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  The  first  eminent  member  of  the  stock  was 
Peter  Andrievich  (1645- 1727),  one  of  Peter  the 
Great's  most  famous  "  fledgelings,"  renowned  for  his 
energy,  versatility,  and  diplomatic  finesse,  whom  his 
master  richly  endowed  and  raised  to  countly  rank. 
Yet  Peter  himself  seems  always  to^  have  stood  on  his 
guard  against  him.  "  Tolstoi,"  he  is  reported  to  have 
said,  "  is  an  able  and  intelligent  man ;  but  it  is  just 
as  well,  when  you  have  anything  to  do  with  him,  to 
have  a  good  big  stone  handy,  that  you  may  be  able 
to  break  his  teeth  in  case  it  should  suddenly  occur 
to  him  to  bite  you."  It  was  this  sinister  sleuth-hound 
who  hunted  down  the  imfortunate  Tsarevich  Alexis 
in  his  Neapolitan  retreat,  and  thus  drew  down  upon 
himself  the  well-merited  hatred  of  the  Russian  people, 

*  Stout. 

7 


Biography 

who  regarded  the  murdered  Prince  as  a  martyr  for 
orthodoxy.  Another  ancestor,  Peter  Aleksandrevich 
(1769- 1 844),  was  a  notable  warrior,  who,  after  fighting 
the  Poles  and  Turks  under  Suvorov  and  Napoleon 
under  Bennigsen,  crushed  the  Polish  revolt  of  1831, 
and  quitted  the  army  with  the  rank  of  a  Field-Marshal. 
The  Tolstois,  though  not  belonging  to  the  ancient 
Muscovite  Boyar  families  themselves,  have  always 
held  their  heads  high  "among  the  modem  Russian 
aristocracy,  and  it  used  to  be  the  boast  of  the  family 
that  not  a  single  member  of  it  had  ever  contracted  a 
mesalliance.  Tolstoi's  own  mother  was  a  Princess 
Volkhonskaya,  his  paternal  grandmother  was  a 
Princess  Gorchakova,  his  maternal  grandmother  was  a 
Princess  Trubetskoya,  all  three  of  them  lineal  descen- 
dants of  Rurik,  the  antipatriarch  of  the  Muscovite 
Tsars.  Tolstoi  himself  had  a  strong  outward 
resemblance  to  his  grandfather.  Prince  Nicholas 
Volkhonsky  (the  prototype  of  Bolkonsby  in  "War 
and  Peace  "),  though  of  a  somewhat  rougher  build. 
Thus  for  two  centuries  the  bluest  of  blood  has  coursed 
through  the  veins  of  the  Tolstois,  and  though  the 
present  owner  of  Yasnaya  Polyana  has  been  in  the 
habit  of  going  about  in  peasant's  garb,  the  portraits 
adorning  the  walls  of  the  mansion  represent,  with 
scarcely  an  exception,  counts,  princes,  and  privy- 
counsellors,  all  bedizened  with  stars  and  ribbons. 

Tolstoi's  father.  Count  Nikolai  Ilich,  was  described 
by  those  who  knew  him'  as  a  stately,  fascinating 
personage.  As  Lieut-Colonel  in  the  Pavlopadsky 
Regiment  he  had  served  with  distinction  throughout 
the  epoch-making  campaign  of  18 12- 181 3.     Nikolai 

8 


Biography 

Tolstoi  inherited  from  his  father  an  almost  bankrupt 
estate,  and  as,  after  satisfying  his  father's  creditors 
to  the  uttermost  farthing,  he  found  it  impossible  to 
subsist  on  his  scanty  pay,  he  resorted  to  the  time- 
honoured  family  practice  of  marrying  a  heiress,  a 
lady  of  few  personal  charms  but  great  wealth,  con- 
siderably older  than  himself,  Maria  Ivanovna 
Volkhonskaya.  Nevertheless  this  mariage  de  con- 
venance  proved  an  extremely  happy  though  not  a  very 
lasting  union,  Tolstoi  losing  his  mother  when  he  was 
only  three  years  of  age  (she  died  in  1831)  and  his 
father  six  years  later.  If,  as  is  commonly  supposed, 
Tolstoi's  mother  was  the  original  of  the  Princess  Maria 
in  "  War  and  Peace,"  she  must,  young  as  he  was  at 
the  time  of  her  death,  have  made  a  deep  impression 
upon  him.  He  describes  her  as  of  a  tender,  plaintive, 
mystical  nature,  of  such  finely  woven  textiure  as  scarce 
to  seem  to  belong  to  this  world,  one  of  those  heroines 
of  self-sacrifice  who  live  not  for  themselves  and  "  who 
do  not  so  much,  die  as  fly  to  Heaven."  One  precious 
gift  she  possessed,  moreover,  which  her  son  certainly 
inherited  from  her,  the  gift  of  inventing  tales  and 
stories  which  held  her  hearers  spellbound.  It  is 
said  that  when  she  was  in  a  ballroom  she  quickly 
gathered  round  her  a  bevy  of  curious  damsels  who 
forgot  their  partners  and  everything  else  as  they 
listened  spellbound  to  the  stories  of  the  Princess 
Volkhonskaya. 

Tolstoi's  earliest  reminiscences  have  thus  been 
recorded  by  himself  in  a  work  published  eight  years 
ago.  Perhaps  no  other  great  writer's  memory  has 
ever  been  able  to  travel  so  far  back. 


Biography 

"  These  are  my  first  recollections  (which  I  cannot 
arrange  in  their  proper  sequence,  not  knowing 
which  come  first  and  which  later,  of  some  I  cannot 
even  say  whether  they  were  seen  asleep  or  awake). 
Here,  at  any  rate,  they  are  : — I  was  tied  up  in  a  bundle, 
I  wanted  to  stretch  out  my  arms  and  I  couldn't 
do  it,  and  I  cried  and  wept  and  my  crying  was 
disagreeable  to  myself,  yet  I  couldn't  leave  off. 
Someone  or  other  seemed  to  be  bending  over  me.  I 
don't  remember  who.  And  all  this  was  happening 
in  a  semi-gloom.  But  I  remember  there  were  two 
persons  present,  and  my  crying  had  the  same  effect 
upon  them  ;  they  were  troubled  by  my  crying,  but 
they  did  not  take  me  out  of  my  bandages  as  I 
wanted  them  to  do,  and  I  cried  all  the  louder. 
My  being  tied  up  seemed  to  them  to  be  a  necessary 
thing,  whereas  I  knew  that  it  was  not  necessary, 
and  I  wanted  to  prove  it  to  them,  and  I  spent 
myself  in  crying,  and  this  crying  was  disagreeable 
to  myself  but  unrestrainable.  I  felt  the  injustice 
and  cruelty — not  of  people,  for  they  had  com- 
passion on  me,  but  of  fate,  and  I  felt  pity  for 
myself.  I  know  not  and  never  could  make  out 
how  exactly  it  was,  that  is  to  say,  whether  they  had 
swathed  me  so  when  I  was  a  suckling  and  I  stretched 
out  my  arms,  or  whether  they  had  swathed  me  when 
I  was  years  older  in  order  that  I  might  not  scratch 
myself.  Whether,  as  is  often  the  case  in  dreams, 
I  concentrated  many  impressions  in  this  one  recol- 
lection I  cannot  say,  but  it  is  certain  that  this  was 
my  first  and  strongest  impression  of  life.  And  what 
I  remember  about  it  most  is  not  my  crying,  or  my 

lO 


«%■ 


Biography 

suffering,  but  the  complicity,  the  contrariety  of  the 
impression.  I  wanted  liberty,  that  liberty  interfered 
with  nobody,  and  I  who  wanted  strength  was  weak 
while  the  others  were  strong. 

''My  second  impression  is  a  joyous  one.  I  am 
sitting  in  a  trough  and  surrounded  by  the  novel  and 
unpleasant  odour  of  some  substance  or  other  with 
which  my  little  body  comes  in  contact.  Possibly  it 
was  bran,  and  possibly  this  bran  was  in  the  water 
and  the  trough,  but  the  novelty  of  the  impression  of 
the  bran  awoke  my  faculties,  and  for  the  first  time  I 
observed,  and  loved  my  little  body  with  its  ribs  visible 
on  its  trunk,  and  the  smooth  dark  trough  and  the 
bare  arms  of  my  nurse,  and  the  warm,  steamy,  terrify- 
ing water  and  the  sound  of  it,  and,  in  particular,  the 
sensation  of  the  wetness  of  the  smooth  sides  of  the 
trough  when  I  drew  my  tiny  hands  along  it. 

"  It  is  strange  and  terrible  to  reflect  that,  from 
my  birth  to  my  third  year,  at  the  very  time  w^hen  I 
was  being  nourished  at  the  breast,  taken  from  the 
breast — at  the  very  time  when  I  was  beginning  to 
crawl,  to  walk,  to  speak — it  is  strange,  I  say,  that, 
search  my  memory  as  I  will,  I  can  find  therein  no 
impressions  whatever  save  these  two. 

"What  was  the  beginning?  When  did  I  begin  to 
live  ?  .  .  .  Did  I  not  live  indeed  when  I  learnt  to 
see,  to  hear,  to  speak,  when  I  slept,  sucked  the  breast 
and  kissed  the  breast,  and  laughed  and  delighted  my 
mother?  I  lived  and  lived  gloriously!  Did  not 
I  then  acquire  everything  whereby  I  live  now  ? — 
and  did  I  not  acquire  so  much  so  quickly,  that  in 
all  the  remainder  of  my  life  I  have  not  acquired  a 

II 


Biography 

hundredth  part  of  what  I  acquired  then?  From 
a  child  of  five  to  me,  as  I  am  now,  is  but  a  step. 
From  a  new-born  child  to  a  child  of  five  the  distance 
is  terrific.     .     .     . 

"  The  recollections  which  follow  refer  only  to  my 
fourth  and  fifth  years,  but  even  of  these  there  are  but 
few,  and  not  one  of  them  refers  to  life  outside  the 
walls  of  the  house.  Nature  till  my  fifth  year  did 
not  exist  for  me.  All  that  I  recollect  occurs  in  my 
little  bed  and  in  my  bedroom.  .  .  People  must 
have  let  me  play  with  flowers,  with  leaves  ;  they  must 
needs  have  shielded  me  from  the  sun  ;  but  till  my  fifth 
or  sixth  year  I  have  not  a  single  recollection  of  what 
we  call  nature.  Possibly  one  has  to  get  away  from 
her  in  order  to  see  her,  and  I  was  nature. 

"The  next  thing  after  my  trough  that  I  recollect 
is  the  recollection  of  Eremeevna.  *  Eremeevna '  was 
the  word  with  which  they  used  to  frighten  us  children. 
No  doubt  they  frightened  us  long  before  this,  but  my 
recollection  of  it  is  as  follows  :  I  am  in  my  little  bed, 
and  very  happy  and  comfortable,  as  I  always  was, 
and  I  should  not  have  remembered  anything  about  it, 
if  the  nurse  or  someone  else  who  then  made  part 
of  my  life,  had  not  said  something  or  other  in  a 
voice  new  to  me  and  went  away,  and  at  once  a 
feeling  of  terror  was  added  to  the  feeling  of  comfort. 
And  I  recollect  that  I  was  not  alone,  but  someone 
else  was  there  just  like  me.  (This  no  doubt  was  my 
sister  Mashenka,  who  was  a  year  younger  than  myself, 
for  our  beds  were  in  the  same  little  room.)  And  I 
recollect  there  was  a  little  curtain  to  my  bed,  and 
my  sister  and  I  were  tremulously  delighted  at  the 

12 


Biography 

extraordinary  thing  that  was  befalling  us,  and  I  kept 
on  hiding  my  head  in  my  pillow  and  glancing  at 
the  door  from  which  I  was  expecting  something  novel 
and  pleasant  to  emerge.  And  we  laughed  and  hid 
our  faces  and  waited.  And  behold !  someone 
appeared  in  a  gown  and  high  cap  such  as  I  had 
never  seen  before,  yet  I  recognised  it  to  be  the  same 
person  who  was  always  with  me  (my  nurse  or  my 
aunt,  which  I  know  not),  and  this  someone  spoke  in  a 
gruff  voice,  which  I  recognised,  something  terrible 
about  naughty  children  and  about  Eremeevna.  I 
trembled  with  fear  and  joy,  I  was  terrified  and  yet 
delighted  in  my  terror,  and  I  wanted  the  someone 
who  was  frightening  me  not  to  know  that  I  recognised 
her.  We  were  silent,  and  after  that  we  began  to 
whisper  together — our  purpose  was  to  conjure  up 
Eremeevna  again. 

"  I  have  another  recollection  similar  to  that  of 
Eremeevna,  and  possibly  later  in  time,  because  it 
is  much  clearer,  although  it  has  always  remained 
unintelligible  to  me.  In  this  recollection  the  prin- 
cipal part  is  played  by  a  German  called  Theodor 
Ivanovich,  our  tutor,  yet  I  know  for  certain  that  I 
was  not  under  his  control  at  the  time,  so  this  must 
have  taken  place  before  my  fifth  year.  And  this  was 
my  first  impression  of  Theodor  Ivanovich.  And  it 
was  of  so  early  occurrence  that  I  still  recollected 
nobody  at  that  time,  neither  my  brothers,  nor  my 
father.  If  I  have  any  recollection  at  all  of  any  par- 
ticular person,  it  is  only  of  my  sister,  and  I  only 
recollect  her  because  she  shared  with  me  my  terror 
of  Eremeevna.      Connected  with  this  recollection  is 

13 


Biography 

my  first  consciousness  of  the  fact  that  our  house  had 
an  upper  storey.  How  I  got  up  there,  whether  I 
went  there  myself,  or  whether  someone  carried  me,  I 
don't  recollect  at  all.  I  only  recollect  that  there  were 
a  good  many  of  us  there,  and  we  were  all  dancing, 
holding  each  other's  hands,  and  there  were  some 
strange  women  amongst  us  (I  have  a  dim  recollection 
that  they  were  washerwomen),  and  we  all  began  to 
leap  and  caper,  and  Theodor  Ivanovich  also  leaped, 
lifting  his  feet  too  high  and  too  noisily  and  boister- 
ously, and  the  same  instant  I  felt  that  this  was 
not  right  but  excessive,  and  I  looked  at  him,  and 
meseems  I  began  to  cry,  and  the  whole  thing  came  to 
an  end. 

"That  is  all  I  can  recollect  up  to  my  fifth  year. 
I  ■  remember  nothing  of  my  nurse,  my  aunts,  my 
brothers,  my  sisters,  my  father,  my  rooms,  and  my 
games.  My  recollections  grow  more  distinct  from 
the  time  when  they  brought  me  downstairs  to  Theodor 
Ivanovich  and  to  the  older  children. 

"  On  being  taken  downstairs  to  Theodor  Ivanovich 
and  the  children,  I  experienced  for  the  first  time,  and 
consequently  more  strongly  than  at  any  subsequent 
period,  the  feeling  which  we  call  the  sense  of  duty, 
the  feeling  of  the  cross  which  everyone  is  called  upon 
to  bear.  It  was  painful  to  me  to  forsake  what  I  had 
been  accustomed  to  (accustomed  to  from  eternity, 
as  it  then  seemed  to  me);  it  was  painful,  poetically 
painful,  to  part  not  only  from  people,  from  my 
sister,  my  aunt,  but  also  from  my  little  bed  with 
the  curtains,  from  my  little  pillow,  and  frightful 
to    me  was  the  new   life  on  which  I  was    entering 

14 


Biography 

I  tried  to  find  pleasure  in  the  new  life  which  stood 
before  me ;  I  tried  to  believe  in  the  endearing 
words  with  which  Theodor  Ivanovich  enticed  me 
to  him  ;  I  tried  not  to  perceive  the  contempt  with 
which  the  other  children  received  me,  because  I 
was  smaller  than  they  ;  I  tried  to  think  that  it  was  a 
shame  for  a  big  boy  to  go  on  living  with  little  girls, 
and  there  was  no  good  at  all  in  the  life  upstairs  with 
my  nurse ;  but  at  heart  I  was  frightfully  miserable, 
and  I  knew  that  I  had  lost  beyond  recall  innocence 
and  happiness,  and  only  the  feeling  of  my  own 
dignity,  the  consciousness  that  I  was  doing  my  duty, 
sustained  me. 

"  Many  times,  subsequently,  in  the  course  of  my  life 
it  has  been  my  lot  to  experience  such  moments  at  the 
turning-points  of  life  as  I  turned  into  fresh  paths.  I 
have  experienced  a  silent  misery  at  irreparable  losses. 
Whatever  they  may  have  said  to  me  about  going  down 
to  the  other  children,  the  chief  thing  I  remember  is  the 
khalat*  with  the  strap  sewn  on  to  the  back,  which 
they  put  on  me  so  as  to  separate  me  for  ever  from 
the  life  upstairs,  and  then  for  the  first  time  I  observed 
not  all  those  with  whom  I  had  lived  upstairs  hitherto, 
but  the  chief  person  with  whom  I  lived  and  whom  I 
did  not  remember  before.  This  was  my  aunt,  T.  A. 
I  remember  her  as  a  smallish,  stout,  dark-haired,  kind, 
fresh,  compassionate  person.  She  dressed  me  in  my 
khalat,  fitted  it  round  me,  fastened  my  belt,  and 
kissed  me,  and  I  saw  that  she  felt  the  same  thing  as 
I  did ;   she  felt  that   it    was    sad,   terribly  sad,  but 

*  A  long  jacket. 
15 


Biography 

necessary.     I  began  to  feel  for  the  first  time  that  life 
was  not  a  game,  but  a  serious  affair     .     .     ."* 

Shortly  before  the  death  of  Tolstoi's  father,  the 
whole  family,  consisting  of  four  boys  and  one  little 
girl,  removed  to  Moscow  in  order  that  the  eldest  son, 
Nicholas,  might  prepare  for  the  University,  but  the 
sudden  death  of  Count  Tolstoi,  almost  immediately 
afterwards,  left  the  family  in  such  straitened  circum- 
stances that  they  were  obliged  to  return  at  once  to 
Yasnaya  Polyana,  where  the  children  were  taught 
German  by  a  German  governess  and  Russian  language 
and  literature  by  a  poor  native  seminarist.  Accord- 
ing to  his  Aunt  Polina  Yushkovaya,  who  was  now 
responsible  for  his  bringing  up,  little  Lev  had  a 
petulant  temper  but  an  excellent  heart,  and  was  given 
to  playing  pranks  of  a  somewhat  disconcerting 
character.  Between  his  seventh  and  eighth  year  he 
was  possessed  by  the  strange  idea  that  he  could  fly 
if  only  he  planted  himself  firmly  on  the  soles  of  his 
feet,  at  the  same  time  clasping  his  knees  tightly 
enough,  and  he  actually  attempted  to  carry  his  theory 
into  practice  by  leaping  in  this  peculiar  posture  from 
one  of  the  top  windows  of  the  house,  with  the 
inevitable  result  of  a  broken  leg.  We  also  have  a 
very  full  and  interesting  description  of  his  later  child- 
hood in  his  first  work,  "Dyetsvo"  ("Childhood"), 
published  in  a  newspaper  Sovremennik,  in  1852,  from 
which  it  is  obvious  that  from  a  very  early  age  he  was 
an  acute  and  impressionable  observer.  And  here  it 
may  be  remarked  that  nearly  all  Tolstoi's  works  are 
to  a  large  extent  autobiographical  documents. 

*  "  Poslyednie  Razskazui  i  Stat'i,"  Berlin,  1894. 
16 


Biography 

If  Tolstoi's  mother  had  some  of  the  characteristics 
of  a  saint,  as  much  cannot  be  said  of  his  aunt  and 
guardian,  Pohna  Yushkovaya.  She  appears,  from 
all  accounts,  to  have  been  a  good-natured,  worldly 
minded  woman,  very  proud  of  her  great  connexions, 
and  considering  wealth  and  position  as  the  sole  means 
to  happiness.  One  of  her  favourite  maxims  was, 
nothing  licks  a  young  man  into  shape  so  much  as 
a  carefully  contrived  liaison  with  a  woman  comme  il 
faut.  Nor  were  matters  made  much  better  when,  in 
the  early  forties,  young  Tolstoi  went  to  Kazan  to  com- 
plete his  education.  It  was  usual  in  those  days  for 
the  Russian  youths  to  go  direct  to  the  University 
from  their  homes,  where  the  teaching  they 
got  was,  at  best,  very  impecfect  and  perfunc- 
tory, instead  of,  as  now,  using  the  Gymnasium 
as  a  stepping-stone  to  the  University.  More- 
over, the  University  curriculum  of  the  period 
was  not  of  a  very  superior  character.  Those  were 
the  iron  days  of  Nicholas  L,  when  an  artfully 
organized  system  of  repression  dominated  all  things 
— education  included.  Every  lecture  and  every 
examination-paper  was  carefully  censured  beforehand, 
and  "  even  to  Archbishops,"  as  the  Tsar  himself  ex- 
pressed it,  "  the  whole  book  could  not  possibly  be 
given."  Add  to  this  that  the  University  of  Kazan 
itself  was  very  much  below  the  level  of  the 
Universities  of  St.  Petersburg  and  Moscow.  The 
life  of  the  students  at  the  old  Volgan  city  is  described 
by  contemporaries  as  extremely  stormy  and  scanda- 
lous. Princely  students  kept  whole  streets  in  a  state 
of  siege  for  weeks  together  by  incessantly  discharging 

17  B 


Biography 

air-guns  from  their  garret-windows  at  all  passers-by, 
and  most  of  the  aristocratic  students  formed  exclu- 
sive little  coteries^  among  themselves  which  were  so 
engrossed  with  really  important  matters  like  balls, 
picnics,  dramatic  entertainments,  and  very  often  less 
reputable  forms  dF  amusement,  that  they  had  very 
little  time  left  for  mere  study.    Moreover,  this  easy, 
pleasant  state  of  existence  came  all  the  easier  because 
Kazan,  in  those  days,  was  the  regular  place  of  resort 
in  the  summer-time  for  the  coxmty  families  of  the 
whole  country  side,  who  flocked  thither  to  educate 
their  sons   and  find   husl)ands   for   their  grown-up 
daughters.      The   higher  classes,   all   more  or  less 
closely  connected,    gloried    in   a    large    patriarchal 
hospitality.    A  young  bachelor  student  of  good  family 
in    those    days    need    never   keep    his    own  table. 
Twenty  or  thirty  houses  were  qpen  to  him  daily 
without  special  invitation,  he  had  only  to  pick  and 
choose.    A  student,  when  once  in  the  full  swing  of 
the  thing,  could  rarely  get  to  bed  till  five  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  and  rarely  rose  till  after  twelve  o'clock 
at  nocm.      Tolstoi,  in  the  character  of  "Nikolinka 
Irtenev,"  has  given  us  a  vivid  piece  of  self-portraiture 
as  he  was  at  Kazan.       A  morbid  sensitiveness,  a 
pitiful  lack  of  mc»ral  and  mental  equilibrium,  a  con- 
suming pride,  and  a  disgust  at  his  own  pnvil^^ 
position  which  points  to  a  latent  reserve  of  nobility, 
is  legible  in  every  line  of  this  description.    His  plain- 
ness was  evidently  one  of  his  sorest  troublesL    "I 
was  bashful  by  nature,"  he  tells  us  through  the  mouth 
of  his  hero,  **  but  my  bashfnlness  grew  with  the  grow- 
ing consciousness  of  my  ugliness,  .    .    .    and  likb 

i8 


Biography 

the  fox  who  made  believe  that  the  grapes  were  sour, 
I  affected  to  despise  all  the  gratifications  attainable 
by  an  agreeable  exterior,  and  tried  with  all  the  strength 
of  my  mind  and  imagination  to  find  delight  in  a 
haughty  isolation,^'  The  unsatisfying  futility  of  the 
butterfly-life  he  led  filled  him  with  a  savage 
impatience.  He  could  quite  understand,  he  tells  us, 
the  commission  of  the  greatest  crimes,  not  from  any 
desire  to  injure  but  from  sheer  curiosity  to  see  what 
would  happen,  from  the  sheer  necessity  of  doitig 
something,  ''There  are  moments,''  he  says,  'Svhen 
the  future  presents  itself  to  our  mind's  eye  in  such 
dark  colours  that  we  fear  to  face  it  with  the  eye  of 
reason,  and  try  to  persuade  ourselves  that  there  will 
be  no  Future  and  that  there  has  been  no  Past  At 
such  moments  I  can  well  understand  a  youth  lighting 
a  fire  beneath  the  very  house  where  his  parents,  his 
brothers  and  sisters,  whom  he  tenderly  loves,  are 
sleeping,  aye,  and  doing  it  without  the  least  fear  or 
hesitation  and  even  with  a  smile  upon  his  face,**  He 
was  firmly  convinced  at  this  time  that  everyone,  from 
his  grandmother  to  his  coachman,  bated  him  and 
delighted  in  his  sufferings,  ^md  he  took  a  melancholy 
pleasure  in  reflecting  that  this  was  to  be  bis  destined 
fate.  Yet  at  this  very  time  he  was  being  petted  and 
fited  by  all  his  acquaintances,  and  allowed  to  have 
his  own  way  in  everything^  The  house  of  his 
Aunt  Yushkovaya  was  the  most  aristocratic  in  Ka^^i, 
and  young  Tolstoi  took  care  to  frequent  none  but  the 
best  cofl^ny,  absolutely  ignoring  the  existence  of 
his  poorer  brethren  in  grey  homespun.  His  habitual 
pose  was  tmculent  and  de^nt^  his  (ace  contemptuous, 

*9 


Biography 

and  he  made  it  a  rule  never  to  salute  any  of 
his  fellow  students  who  regarded  him  as  a  superior 
being  simply  because  he  wore  a  magnificent  mantle 
trimmed  with  beaver  and  had  a  horse  and  a  coachman 
at  his  disposal.  Tolstoi  himself  divided  the  whole 
world  into  two  classes :  those  who  were  comme  il  faut, 
and  those  who  were  comme  il  ne  faut  fas.  The 
characteristics  of  the  comme  il  faut  people  were  a 
correct  pi?onunciation  of  French,  well-kept  nails,  an 
aptitude  for  dancing  and  bowing  elegantly,  and 
above  all  an  habitual  expression  of  well-bred  con- 
temptuous ennui.  The  comme  il  ne  faut  fas  people, 
v/ho  possessed  none  of  these  saving  virtues,  he  heajtily 
despised,  while  any  person  unfortunate  enough  to 
speak  bad  French  instantly  kindled  within  him  a 
feeling  of  hatred.  The  moral  tone  of  the  dis- 
tinguished circle  in  which  he  moved  was  low  indeed. 
JLooking  back  upon  this  melancholy  period  of  his  life 
at  a  later  day  he  remarks  (in  his  "  Ispovyed  "  or  Con- 
fession), that  whenever  he  tried  to  be  morally  good  he 
encountered  contempt  and  laughter,  but  whenever  he 
gave  himself  up  to  pleasant  vices  he  was  applauded 
and  encouraged.  His  good  aunt,  whom  he  describes 
as  "  the  purest  of  women,"  frequently  told  him  that  she 
desired  nothing  so  much  for  him  as  a  liaison  with  a 
married  lady,  and  it  was  the  dearest  wish  of  her  heart 
that  he  should  become  the  Emperor's  adjutant,  wed  a 
rich  girl,  and  have  lots  of  slaves.  Most  of  his  brothers, 
according  to  Professor  Zagoskin,  showed  no  sign  of 
moral  restraint  (especially  Sergius,  who  subsequently 
ran  away  with  a  gipsy),  with  the  exception  of 
Demetrius,  a  mystical  ascetic,  who  went  to  the  opposite 


20 


Biography 

extreme,  spent  half  his  time  on  his  knees,  and  could 
only  be  persuaded  to  go  to  a  ball  when  the  biblical 
example  of  King  David,  dancing  before  the  Ark,  was 
urged  upon  him.  As  for  Lev  Tolstoi  himself,  religion 
had  so  little  weight  with  him  at  this  time  that  when  a 
casual  companion  lightly  remarked  that  praying  was 
both  unnecessary  and  ridiculous,  he  cast  aside  the 
habit  with  as  little  concern  as  if  he  were  simply 
"  brushing  a  piece  of  fluff  off' his  coat-sleeve."  Under 
these  circumstances  it  is  scarcely  surprising  to  learn 
that  he  learnt  but  little  of  value  at  Kazan.  History 
he  already  despised  as  "  a  tissue  of  legends  and  trifles 
generally  unnecessary  and  often  immoral."  The 
juridical  Faculty  he  despised  because  all  its  pro- 
fessors were  Germans.  Finally,  he  attached  himself 
to  the  Faculty  of  Oriental  Tongues,  one  of  the 
special  features  of  the  University  of  Kazan,  but  despite 
the  extra  aid  of  private  instruction,  was  duly  plucked 
at  his  examination.  Finally,  in  1847,  he  quitted 
Kazan  and  returned  to  the  family  estate  at  Yasnaya 
Polyana,  where  he  resided  for  the  next  four 
years. 

Even  now  young  Tolstoi  was  painfully  impressed 
by  the  wretched  condition  of  the  Russian  muzhik,  and 
anxious  to  ameliorate  his  lot.  "  Was  it  not  my  sacred 
and  obvious  duty,"  he  cries,*  "  to  have  a  care  for  these 
700  men,  for  whom  I  was  responsible  to  God  ?  "  His 
earlier  efforts  in  this  direction,  however,  were  defeated 
by  the  invincible  laziness  of  the  peasants  and  his  own 
inexperience.     It  was  about  this  time,  moreover,  that 

*  Speaking  through  the  mouth  of  Prince  Nekhlyudov,  in  "  Utr 
Pomyeshchika,"  who  is  Tolstoi  himself. 

21 


Biography 

hii  humanitarian  tbeoriei  received  a  powerful  impetus 
from  a  diligent  study  of  Rousseau, 

In  J  85 1  Tolstoi  received  freth  impressions  from  a 
visit  to  the  Caucasus  with  his  brother  Nicholas,  After 
sailing  down  the  Volga  through  the  country  of  the 
Calfflucks,  who  then  were  still  fire-worshippers,  they 
settled  down  on  the  left  bank  of  the  Terek,  not  far 
from  Kizylar,  in  the  midst  of  a  simple,  unaffected 
people,  spending  most  of  their  time  in  shooting 
pheasants,  hunting  wild  boars,  and  wandering  through 
fen  and  forest.  The  beauty  and  variety  of  the 
Caucasian  scenery,  where,  in  a  few  hours,  one  passes 
from  the  realm  of  eagles  and  snow-storms  to  emerald- 
green  valleys  where  the  dense  oak  forests  are  thick 
with  azaleas  and  laurels,  where  myrtles  and  cypresses 
grow  in  the  open  air,  and  mountain  ranges,  dominated 
by  the  snowy  caps  of  Elbrus  and  Kazbek,  form  an 
impressive  background,  powerfully  affected  young 
Tolstoi.  Nor  was  he  without  strange  adventures  and 
curious  experiences.  On  one  occasion  he  narrowly 
escaped  capture  at  the  hands  of  the  savage 
mountaineers  whilst  on  an  excursion  five  miles  from 
the  nearest  Russian  outpost,  and  had  to  ride  for  his 
life.  On  another  occasion  he  lost  so  heavily  at  cards 
that  despairing  of  ever  being  able  to  pay  his  debts  he 
resorted,  in  a  sudden  access  of  religious  fervour,  to  the 
desperate  expedient  of  prayer,  and  while  still  on  his 
knees  was  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  an  unexpected 
messenger  from  a  friend  with  a  gift  of  money.  It  is 
to  this  residence  in  the  Caucasus  that  we  owe  one  of 
the  most  brilliant  and  characteristic  of  Tolstoi's  earlier 
works:    "Kavkazsky   Plyennik"  ("The   Captive  in 

aa 


Biography 

the  Caucasus  "),  a  later  adaptation  of  which  by  Tolstoi 
himself  foirms  No.  2  in  the  present  collection. 

At  this  period  of  his  life  Tolstoi  was  an  enthusi- 
astic hunter  and  full  of  martial  fervour.  He  was  easily 
persuaded  to  join  the  artillery,  had  several  brushes 
with  the  enemy,  and  lived  modestly  on  his  pay  of 
five  roubles  (ten  shillings)  a  month,  till  he  had  paid 
off  all  his  card  debts.  He  passionately  desired  at 
this  time  to  win  the  Cross  of  St.  George  for  valour 
(which  is  said  to  have  been  withheld  from  him,  though 
v/ell  merited,  by  the  enmity  of  his  superior  officer), 
and  on  the  outbreak  of  the  Crimean  War  was  attached 
to  the  staff  of  the  Command'er-in-Chief,  Count  Gor- 
chakov,  determined  at  all  hazards  to  win  the  laurels 
denied  to  him  in  the  Caucasus.  Throughout  the  war 
he  distinguished  himself,  both  as  an  officer  and  a 
soldier,  by  the  most  irreproachable  valour,  realising 
his  own  ideal*  of  true  courage  by  doing  his  duty  on 
every  occasion  without  vain  glory  or  desperation,  and 
took  an  active  part  in  the  disastrous  battle  of  the 
Black  River.  There  can  be  little  doubt  that  the 
rude  but  salutary  lessons  of  active  warfare,  teaching 
as  it  does  to  those  who  will  learn  the  lesson,  the  urgent 
necessity  of  complete  self-restraint  and  self-surrender, 
had  a  purifying,  ennobling  influence  on  Tolstoi's 
character.  His  comrades,  in  general,  seem  to  have 
adored  him.  "  Tolstoi,"  says  one  of  them,  "  with  his 
tales  and  couplets,  enlivened  us  all.  In  the  fullest 
sense  of  the  word  he  was  the  soul  of  our  party.  When 
he  was  with  us,  time  seemed  to  fly,  and  our  merriment 

*  As  subsequently  presented  by  Capt.  Khiopov  in  "  Nabyeg,"  and 
by  Timokhin  in  "  Voina  i  Mir." 

23 


Biography 

was  endless ;  but  when  he  was  away  all  our  noses 
hung  down  dismally  enough."  The  couplets  he  com- 
posed on  the  occasion  of  the  battle  of  August  4th 
were  sung  by  the  whole  army  ;  but  his  hopes  of  obtain- 
ing a  field-adjutancy  were  dashed  in  consequence  of 
some  bitterly  sarcastic  verses  on  his  official  chiefs 
which  he  could  not  resist  writing,  and  which  when 
once  written  circulated  in  MS.  from  hand  to  hand. 
It  was  now,  too,  that  he  drafted  the  first  sketch  of 
his  famous  "  Sevastopolskie  Razskazui "  ("  Sebasto- 
pol  Tales  "),  which,  even  in  its  rough  form,  drew  tears 
from  the  Empress  Alexandra,  and  induced  Tsar 
Nicholas  himself  to  remark  that  "  the  life  of  this  young 
author  must  be  looked  after,"  and  to  order  that  he 
should  be  transferred  to  a  less  dangerous  position. 

At  the  end  of  1855,  on  his  return  to  St.  Petersburg, 
the  young  and  titled  "  hero  of  Sebastopol "  found 
all  the  best  houses  open  to  him,  while  "  The  Sebas- 
topol Tales  "  gave  him  the  entree  to  the  leading  literary 
circles.  His  earlier  works,  "  Dyetsvo "  ("  Child- 
hood"),  first  published  in  1852  in  the  Sovremennik, 
where  it  was  speedily  followed  by  "  Utro  Pomyesh- 
•chika"  and  "  Otrochestvo "  ("Boyhood"),  though 
highly  spoken  of  by  Nekrasov  and  other  connoisseurs, 
do  not  seem  to  have  attracted  general  attention.  Now, 
however,  he  was  regarded  as  one  of  the  leading 
spirits  of  that  new  era  of  emancipation  and  enlighten- 
ment which  coincided  with  the  accession  of  the  Tsar- 
Liberator,  Alexander  II.  But  Tolstoi  was  never  able 
to  thrive  in  literary  circles.  This  was  due  not  so 
much  to  his  super-sensitiveness  and  natural  reserve 
as    to  an  intimate    conviction,   which   he    invariably 

24 


Biography 

expressed  with  the  utmost  frankness,  that  the  cult  of 
art  and  hterature  was  mostly  affectation  and  mere 
phrasing.  He  never  would  believe  in  the  regenerating 
influence  of  mere  culture.  This  was  the  secret  of  his 
quarrel  with  his  great  contemporary,  Turgenev,  whose 
cosmopolitanism,  Anglomania,  and  "  gentlemanly  way 
of  regarding  literature  and  progress  generally," 
absolutely  revolted  him.  The  Russian  author,  Fet', 
who  met  Tolstoi  one  evening  at  Nekrasov's,  observed 
in  him,  at  the  very  first  instant,  "  an  involuntary 
opposition  to  everything  generally  accepted  in  the 
department  of  criticism."  In  other  words,  young 
Tolstoi  refused  to  believe  in  the  dawn  of  a  new  era 
of  progress  in  which  poets  and  artists  were  to  be  the 
priests  of  culture,  and  show  the  people  a  new  and 
better  way.  Such  optimistic  theories  struck  him  as 
mere  nostrums.  But  listen  to  ihis  own  account  of  the 
matter.  "  I  began  to  doubt  the  truth  of  the  theory 
because  the  priests  of  this  new  religion  did  not  agree 
among  themselves.  I  found  that  we  had  not  made 
up  our  minds  on  the  essential  point,  what  is  good  and 
what  is  evil,  so  that  we,  the  sole  teachers  of  truth, 
attacked  and  contradicted  one  another  like  so  many 
Bedlamites."  For  Tolstoi  even  now  was  against  every 
sort  of  compromise.  He  aimed  at  nothing  short  of 
absolute  perfection  and  at  perfection  alone.  At  the 
same  time  the  desire  to  excel  everyone  in  everything 
was  strong  within  hinx  Even  physically  it  was  his 
ambition  to  be  stronger  and  more  dexterous  than  his 
fellows,  and  he  began  a  course  of  gymnastic  exercises 
which  even  in  his  old  age  he  was  not  altogether  to 
abandon.     We  are  told  that  on  his  return  to  Yasnaya 

25 


Biography 

Polyana  his  steward  coming  to  him  in  the  morning 
for  orders  would  frequently  find  his  master  hanging 
in  flannels,  head  downwards,  on  a  trapeze,  in  which 
position  he  would  discuss  the  best  modes  of  sowing 
and  threshing,  the  steward  accompanying  his  young 
master  round  and  round  the  room  as  he  turned 
somersaults  without  interrupting  the  conversation. 
Forty^five  years  later  the  habitual  filling  of  a  huge 
water-butt  for  domestic  purposes  was  to  be  to  him 
what  the  hewing  down  of  trees  used  to  be  to  Mr. 
Gladstone. 

It  was  in  1856  that  Tolstoi  quitted  the  capital  for 
the  repose  and  seclusion  of  Yasnaya  Polyana,  dividing 
his  time  between  agricultural  pursuits  (ploughing 
and  sowing  his  own  fields  and  labouring  hard  to 
better  the  condition  of  his  serfs)  and  literature. 
To  this  period  belong  the  novels  and  romances, 
"Yunost"  ("Youth"),  "Vstryecha  v  Otryadye " 
("  The  Encounter  in  the  Battahon  "),  "  Metel'  "  ("  The 
Snowstorm  "),  No.  i  of  the  present  collection,  "  Zapiski 
Markera  "  ("  The  Memories  of  a  Marker  "),  and  "  Dva 
Husara  "  ("  Two  Hussars  "). 

In  1857  Tolstoi  went  abroad  for  the  first  time,  and 
was  away  for  two  years  visiting  Germany,  in  which 
he  was  very  much  interested,  and  France.  At  Paris 
he  again  encountered  Turgenev,  but  the  meeting  was 
anything  but  felicitous.  Writing  to  a  friend  as  to 
his  experiences  on  this  occasion,  Turgenev  remarks : 
"  I  cannot  get  on  with  Tolstoi  anyhow,  our  views  are 
so  utterly  different."  Twelve  months  later  Tolstoi 
went  abroad  again,  but  between  his  first  and  second 
foreign  tour  occurred  what  he  always  regarded  as  the 

26 


Biography 

tragedy  of  his  life— the  death  of  his  elder  brother 
Nicholas,  to  whom  he  was  devotedly  attached,  and 
who  is  said  to  have  been  the  one  really  intimate 
friend,  except  his  wife,  he  ever  possessed  Turgenev 
describes  the  elder  Tolstoi  as  "  a  talented  talker  and 
story-teller,  who  always  lived  by  himself  either  in 
the  country  or  in  quite  impossible  quarters  at 
Moscow,  sharing  everything  with  the  poor."  The 
effect  of  this  bereavement  upon  Le^  was  crushing. 
"  Nothing  in  all  my  life,"  he  tells  us,  "  made  such  an 
impression  upon  me.  Why  worry  and  suffer  any 
more,  I  thought  to  myself,  when  nought  remains  of 
such  a  one  as  Nikolai  Nikolaevich?  "  From  hence- 
forth the  shadow  of  death  falls  across  his  finest  pages, 
and  he  is  possessed  by  a  constantly  deepening 
feeling  of  the  futility  of  life  and  the  emptiness  of  the 
best  that  it  can  offer.  Even  art  lost  its  charm  for 
him.  "  Art  is  a  lie,  and  I  cannot  love  a  lie  however 
beautiful,"  is  his  summing  up  of  the  whole  matter. 
It  was  in  this  morbidly  gloomy  frame  of  mind  that 
he  wrote  "  Lucerne  "  and  "  Albert,"  surely  the  most 
pessimistic  productions  of  modern  fiction. 

Tolstoi's  second  Continental  tour  was  a  voyage  of 
instruction.  His  alert,  receptive,  and  thorough-going 
nature  laid  all  branches  of  foreign  learning  under 
contribution.  First  he  visited  Berlin  to  attend  the 
lectures  of  Droysen  and  Du  Bois  Raymond,  and  study 
the  Prussian  penal  system,  being  a  frequent  visitor 
at  the  Moabit  Prison,  where  the  solitary  confinement 
system  chiefly  occupied  his  attention.  He  also  care- 
fully investigated  the  various  trade  unions  founded 
by  Schulze-Delitsch,  and  made  the  acquaintance  of 

27 


Biography 

the  celebrated  pedagogue  Diesterweg,  who  struck 
him  as  somewhat  "  hard  and  dry."  Thence  he  pro- 
ceeded to  Dresden,  where  he  diUgently  inspected  all 
the  principal  schools,  and  paid  a  sudden  and  alarming 
visit  on  Auerbach,  who  happened  at  that  time  to 
be  his  favourite  author.  Tolstoi  abruptly  intro- 
duced himself  as  Eugen  Bauman,  one  of  Auerbach's 
characters ;  but  the  author  of  the  "  Schwarzwalder 
Dorfgeschichten,"  was  more  frightened  than  flattered 
by  the  unlooked-for  inroad  of  the  grim,  bizarre- 
looking  young  Muscovite,  and  even  Tolstoi's 
compliment,  "  Your  books  have  made  me  think 
seriously  of  many  things,"  did  not  immediately 
reassure  him.  At  first  Auerbach  seems  to  have 
taken  him  for  a  peasant  from  some  remote  village 
w^ho  had  come  either  to  abuse  or  to  blackmail  him 
for  defamation  of  character.  Passing  from  Dresden 
to  Kissingen,  Tolstoi  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Froebel,  and  then  travelling  slowly  through  Switzer- 
land, Italy,  and  France,  proceeded  via  Brussels  to 
London.  It  was  during  this  period  that  he  wrote 
"  Tri  Smerti "  ("  Three  Deaths  "),  the  last  story  in  the 
present  collection,  "  Semeinoe  Schasti "  ("  Family 
Luck  "),  and  "  Polikushka." 

Tolstoi  returned  from  his  second  visit  to  the  West 
full  of  educational  ideas,  which  he  instantly  pro- 
ceeded to  put  into  practice.  He  began  to  publish  a 
pedagogic  journal,  entitled  Y asnaya  Polyana,  from 
the  name  of  his  estate,  and  started  a  school  for  the 
children  of  his  peasantry — the  first  free  school  that 
ever  existed  in  Russia,  which  was  absolutely  unique 
of  its,  kind.     Tolstoi  adopted  the  two-fold  principle 

28 


Biography 

that  "  all  constraint  is  dangerous  and  argues  want  of 
proper  method,"  and  that  "  teachers  ought  to  consult 
not  their  awn  convenience  but  the  convenience  of 
their  pupils."  Accordingly  his  pupils  were  allowed 
practically  to  do  as  they  liked  They  could  come 
and  go  at  will,  might  sit  on  chairs,  huddle  into 
corners,  or  stand  at  the  window  with  their  backs  to 
their  teachers  as  the  mood  took  them,  and  no* 
discipline  of  any  sort  was  countenanced.  To  interest 
the  pupils  while  they  taught  them  was  to  be  the  sole 
aim  of  their  schoolmasters.  This  school  created 
some  httle  sensation  in  its  day.  French  savants  and 
experts  raised  their  hands  to  Heaven  in  amazement, 
and  professed  they  could  not  understand  how  order 
could  be  evolved  from  the  midst  of  anarchy ;  and 
when  the  school  payed  their  superior  insight  the  bad 
compliment  of  actually  succeeding,  they  could  only 
explain  the  marvel  by  emphasizing  the  difference 
of  temperament  between  lively  French  children  and 
the  more  phlegmatic  Slavs.  In  Russia  itself  some 
of  the  higher  officials  were  uncomfortably  agitated 
by  Tolstoi's  revolutionary  pedagogic  methods. 
The  Minister  of  the  Interior,  an  inveterate  adherent 
of  the  old  non-progressive  school,  complained  to 
his  colleague,  the  Minister  of  Education  (October 
14th,  1862),  that,  in  his  opinion,  the  school  of  Yasnaya 
Polyana,  and  the  journal  of  the  same  name,  threatened 
to  undermine  the  very  foundations  of  religion  and 
morality,  especially  as  the  director  and  editor  was 
"  endowed  with  a  remarkable,  I  may  even  say, 
attractive  literary  style."  Moreover,  laments  the 
much  perturbed  official,   Count  Tolstoi's  convictions 

29 


Biography 

are  so  evidently  sincere  as  to  place  his  motives  above 
suspicion,  so  that  there  is  absolutely  no  getting  at 
hinL  And  yet  opinions  so  eccentric  were  bound 
to  mislead  the  imwary.  What  then  was  to  be 
done?  Fortunately,  the  Minister  of  Education,  an 
enlightened  liberal,  could  assure  his  colleague  that 
he  had  carefully  examined  Count  Tolstoi's  methods, 
and  convinced  himself  that  they  were  worthy  rather 
of  praise  than  of  censure,  and  although  he,  the 
Minister,  could  not  say  that  he  agreed  with  all  the 
Count's  views,  he  felt  bound  to  thank  and  was 
determined  to  support  him.  Nevertheless  ^e  school 
soon  died  a  natural  death.  Pupils  were  at  first 
attracted  by  its  novelty,  but  decamped  the  moment 
they  felt  they  had  learnt  enough,  and  the  attempt  to 
found  fourteen  establishments  of  the  same  sort  in 
other  places  failed  for  want  of  public  support,  where- 
upon Tolstoi  abandoned  the  scheme  altogether,  and 
buried  himself  in  the  steppes  inhabited  by  the 
nomadic  Ba^kirs,  in  order  to  ''breathe  fresh  air, 
drink  kumiss,  and  live  the  healthy,  natural  life  of 
the  brute  beasts,"  To  this  residence  among  the 
Bashkirs  we  are  indebted  for  that  piercingly  vivid 
story :  **  How  much  land  docs  a  man  want?  *^  whidi 
will  be  found  in  n^  former  volume  of  selections, 
entitled  **  Tales  from  Tolstoi'' 

Tolstoi  presently  exchanged  the  rough  hospitality 
of  the  nomadic  Bashkirs  for  the  comfort  of  a  home  oi 
his  own.  On  September  23rd,  1862,  he  married  Sof^ia 
Behr,  the  second  daughter  of  a  Moscow  physician. 
The  bride  was  eighteen,  the  groom  f our-and'tbirty^ 
and  at  first  tibe  lady  was  not  only  indifferent  to  her 

30 


Biography 

wooer,  but  took  no  pains  to  conceal  the  fact  It 
seems  to  have  been  a  point  of  honour  with  the  Behr 
family  that  the  three  daughters  should  be  married  in 
order  of  seniority,  and  they  took  it  quite  amiss  when 
Tolstoi,  passing  over  the  eldest  daughter,  set  his  heart 
upon  the  second  The  gentleman's  final  declaration, 
which  was  ultimately  successful,  is  minutely  described 
in  "Anna  Karenina,"  where  Kitty  Shcherbatskaya 
is  Miss  Behr,  while  Tolstoi  has  described  himself  to 
the  life  in  the  character  of  Levin.  This  union  proved 
to  be  of  the  happiest,  and  was  blessed  with  nine 
children,  five  boys  and  four  girls,  the  youngest  of 
whom  was  bom  in  1891-  With  his  marriage  the 
most  joyous  period  of  Tolstoi's  life  begins.  Writing 
to  a  friend  on  October  gtii,  1862,  he  says:  "I  have 
been  married  a  fortnight,  and  I  am  a  happy,  a  new, 
an  altogether  new  man.  My  wife  r^;ularly  looks 
after  the  cash  and  the  acounts,  and  I  have  the  bees, 
the  sheep,  a  new  garden,  and  the  vines  on  my  hands. 
Everything  goes  on  pretty  well,  though  of  course  it 
is  not  ideally  perfect  My  wife  is  no  dolL  !^e  is  of 
real  help  to  me."  His  happiness  is  so  great  that  it 
strikes  him  as  being  unnatural,  but  he  consoles  him- 
self with  the  reflection  that  love  becomes  purer  and 
strcMiger  beneath  the  threats  of  despair !  On  another 
occasion,  however,  he  admits,  without  reserve,  that  he 
is  perfectly  happy  in  his  married  life.  He  has  dis- 
covered that  Fanny  is  not  only  a  loving  wife  but  an 
excellent  mother,  and  a  helper  even  in  his  literary 
work.  The  advent  of  children  oi  his  own  gave  him 
an  c^jportunity  of  thoroughly  applying  his  pedagc^;ic 
theodes  to  idie  great  problem  ci  their  education. 

31 


Biography 

Plaything's  were  banished  from  the  nursery,  but  the 
children  were  allowed  the  utmost  liberty,  bein^  never 
chastised   corporally,   and  brought  up  as   closely  as 
possible  beneath  the  eyes  of  their  parents.     Assum- 
ing that  nowhere  was  the  independence  of  children 
so    liberally   provided    for    as    in    England,    Tolstoi 
committed  his  own  children,  between  the  age  of  three 
and  nine,  to  the  care  of  an  English  governess.     The 
}-oung  people   were  strictly  forbidden  ever  to  com- 
mand the  servants,  but  to  say  "  if  you  please  "  for 
everything  they  wanted,  their  parents  setting  them 
the  example  in  this  respect.     The  first  symptom  of 
lying  was  severely  repressed  by  confining  the  offender 
to  his  room  or  putting  him  into   Coventry,  but  the 
slightest  sign  of  penitence  was  requited  by  instant 
forgiveness.     The    children   were  always   with  their 
parents  except  at  meal  times,  or  when  they  retired 
to  rest,  and  the  servants  to  whose  charge  they  were 
then   entrusted,    were   strictly   cautioned  to   respect 
their  innocence  both  by  word  and  deed.     We  have  it 
on  the  authority  of  one  of  Tolstoi's  housekeepers  that 
he  was  a  first-rate  manager.      He  saw  to  everything 
personally,    negligence    and    slovenliness    were    im- 
possible under  such  a  master.     The  smallest  detail  was 
not  beneath  his  notice.     His  pig-stys,  his  cowsheds, 
and  ^stable  were  models  of  cleanliness.     In  his  pigs 
he  took  particular  pride.     There  were  three  hundred 
of  them  in  all,  and  they  lived  in  couples  in  separate 
stys.     As  for  the  dwelling-house,  not  a  speck  of  dirt 
was  allowed  to  settle  there,  the  walls  and  floors  had  to 
be  washed  down  every  day.     He  would  storm  and 
rage  if  the  least  thing  were  neglected,  and  when  his 

32 


Biography 

doctor  remonstrated  with  him  on  the  violence  of  his 
temper  as  Hkely  to  prove  injurious  to  his  health, 
Tolstoi,  like  Peter  the  Great  before  him,  would  declare 
that  it  was  his  nature.  "  I  want  to  control  myself  but 
cannot,"  he  would  always  say.  His.  industry  and 
economy  were  promptly  rewarded  by  prosperity. 
Count  Tolstoi's  estate  was  one  of  the  comparatively 
few  in  Russia  of  the  same  size  which  more  than 
paid  its  expenses.  Yasnaya  Polyana  was  especially 
famous  for  its  excellent  cream,  which  sold  in  the 
Moscow  market  at  60  kopecks  (is.  2^d.)  per  pound. 
No  description,  we  are  told,  can  give  any  idea  of  the 
cheerful  and  attractive  life  at  Yasnaya  Polyana  during 
the  first  sixteen  years  of  Tolstoi's  happy  married  life 
(1862- 1 878).  There  was  no  subject,  from  cricket  and 
football  to  the  most  abstruse  branches  of  philosophy, 
in  which  Tolstoi  did  not  take  a  lively  interest,  and 
though  his  acquaintances  were  few,  they  numbered 
among  them  some  of  the  most  enlightened  and  inter- 
esting men  in  Russia,  including  N.  N.  Strakhov,  Prince 
Urusov,  and  the  mathematician,  A.  Fet.  As  his  sons 
grew  up  they  became  his  closest  companions.  At  his 
call  they  would  joyfully  come  running  out  to  join  him 
in  his  long  rambles  (he  rarely  went  a  shorter  distance 
than  twelve  miles  at  a  stretch),  or  in  a  course  of 
Swedish  gymnastics,  or  compete  with  him  at  hurdle 
racing,  or  go  a-hunting  or  shooting.  In  the  winter 
the  father  and  sons  would  be  skating  or  sledging 
together,  or  bombarding  snow  fortifications  of  their 
own  construction.  Indeed  Tolstoi  asked  for  nothing 
better  than  to  pass  his  days  in  the  bosom  of  his 
family.       He  hated  to  be  away  from  his  wife  and 

33  c 


Biography 

children  even  for  a  single  day,  and  hastened  back  to 
them  with  rapture  when  the  detaining  business  had 
been  happily  transacted.  It  was  at  this  time  of  his 
life  that  an  acquaintance  said  of  him  that  he  was 
laughing  all  day  long. 

But  Tolstoi  had  other  and  more  serious  work  during 
the  long  winter  evenings.  It  was  in  the  midst  of  this 
period  of  supreme  domestic  felicity  that  his  two 
immortal  masterpieces,  "  War  and  Peace  "  and  "  Anna 
Karenina,"  were  composed. 

"  Voina  i  Mir "  ("  War  and  Peace ")  was  begun 
immediately  after  his  marriage,  under  the  happiest 
auspices,  and  was  completed  in  five  years.  That 
such  a  stupendous  work,  a  whole  library  in  itself, 
should  have  been  composed  within  such  a  compara- 
tively short  time  is  sufficiently  surprising,  but  our 
surprise  becomes  amazement  when  we  learn  that  the 
author  actually  transcribed  its  thousands  of  pages  with 
his  own  hand  seven  times  before  he  was  satisfied  with 
it.  With  the  possible  exception  of  Turgenev's  "  Otsui 
1  Dyeti "  ("  Fathers  and  Sons ")  five  years  earlier 
no  other  Russian  book  ever  created  such  a  sensation. 
Despite  its  obvious  defects  (defects  far  less  discer- 
nible, however,  in  the  original  than  the  translations  be 
they  never  so  good),  prolixity,  an  almost  total  absence 
of  humour  and  a  disposition  to  philosophize  a  la 
Schopenhauer,  under  vvhose  fascination  Tolstoi  lay 
at  that  particular  time,*  "Voina  i  Mir"   must  ever 

♦  On  August  30th,  1869,  Tolstoi  wrote  to  a  friend  :  '*  I  have  an 
indescribable  enthusiasm  for  Schopenhauer,  \vho  has  given  me  a 
succession  of  intellectual  delights,  the  like  of  which  I  have  never 
experienced  before.     I  know  not,  of  course,  whether  my  opini  ons  m  ay 

34 


I 


Biography 

rank  amongst  the  few  supremely  great  masterpieces 
of  the  world's  literature.  It  is  a  prose  epic  of  vast 
dimensions,  the  history  of  the  life  and  death  struggle 
of  the  whole  Russian  nation  with  its  most  terrible 
adversary  the  first  Napoleon,  for  the  Russian  nation 
is  the  real  hero  of  the  romance,  even  the  leading 
characters,  Kutuzov  and  Platon  Karataev,  being  mere 
idealised  exponents  or  representatives  of  the  nation 
at  large.  Yet  when  Tolstoi  forgets  the  philosopher 
in  the  artist,  and  condescends  to  probe  the  personal 
characters  of  the  protagonists  in  the  terrible  struggle, 
he  convinces  as  no  other  great  writer  has  ever  suc- 
ceeded in  convincing.  The  character  of  Napoleon  is 
of  itself  a  revelation.  A  great  critic  has  well  said 
that  after  readmg  the  description  of  Alexander's 
interview  with  Bonaparte  at  Tilsit,  one  cannot  rid 
oneself  of  the  conviction  that  Tolstoi  must  have  been 
concealed  somewhere  in  the  same  room,  for  nowhere 
else  do  we  seem  to  see  "  the  little  corporal  "  so  vividly 
in  the  flesh  as  in  the  pages  of  "  Voina  i  Mir."  The 
philosophy  of  the  book,  as  already  hinted,  is  not 
without  a  tinge  of  Schopenhauerism.  Thus,  man's 
reason,  coupled  with  his  exacting  egoism,  is  held  to 
be  the  source  of  all  human  suffering.  The  main 
duty  of  man  is  self-renunciation  and  absolute  sub- 
jection to  the  will  of  the  mass  of  humanity  which 
makes  up  the  nation.  Kutuzov  was  a  great  man 
simply    because    he    understood    this,    and  had    no 

not  change,  but  I  am  confident  at  present  that  Schopenhauer  is  the 
greatest  of  geniuses  .  .  .  and  I  can  only  attribute  his  being  so 
little  known  to  the  fact  that  the  world  at  large  is  made  up  of  mere 
idiots." 

35 


Biography 

independent  will  of  his  own.  Such  a  system  neces- 
sarily postulates  the  non-existence  of  separate  human 
individuality,  and,  logically  pursued,  would  make  un- 
conscious instinct  the  best,  because  the  strongest 
force  in  nature.  Even  rehgion  is  discarded,  because, 
as  Tolstoi  plainly  perceived,  religion  strengthens  the 
sense  of  individuality  by  making  man  self-conscious. 
This  after  all  is  "  Die  Welt  in  Wille  und  Vorstellung  " 
in  a  nutshell.  No  wonder,  then,  if  Tolstoi's  great  con- 
temporary, Dostoevsky,  after  reading  "  Voina  i  Mir," 
put  the  book  down  with  the  simple  remark :  "  The 
fool  hath  said  in  his  heart  there  is  no  God."  Yet 
Tolstoi  himself  at  a  later  day  was  to  reject 
Schopenhauer's  philosophy  as  inadequate. 

Tolstoi  himself,  at  least  while  actually  engaged 
upon  the  work, .  was  not  a  little  proud  of  "  Voina  i 
Mir."  "  I  regard  all  that  I  have  printed  hitherto,"  he 
wrote  to  a  friend,  "  as  mere  trial-work  for  my  pen.'* 
The  first  volume  appeared  in  1867,  the  last  in  1869. 
The  work  of  preparatory  researoh  tried  Tolstoi 
severely.  "  You  have  no  idea,"  he  wrote  to  Fet  in 
November,  '69,  "  how  difficult  the  initial  labour  of 
deep  ploug^hing  in  the  field  where  I  am  obliged  to 
sow  has  been  to  me.  ...  *  Ars  longa,  vita  brevis/ 
I  think  to  myself  every  day." 

After  completing  "  Voina  i  Mir,"  Tolstoi  set  about 
writing  a  romance  of  the  age  of  Peter  the  Great,  and 
began  collecting  and  arranging  his  materials  with  his 
usual  energy  and  conscientiousness.  "  Dear  little  Le^," 
wrote  his  wife  on  this  occasion,  "  is  surrounded  by 
piles  of  book,  portraits,  and  pictures,  and  sits  reading 
and  writing  and  re-writing  with  puckered  brows.     In 

36 


Biography 

the  evening  when  the  children  have  gone  to  bed  he 
tells  me  of  his  plans."*  But  after  five  years  of  labour 
Tolstoi  abandoned  the  idea  altogether,  because  he 
had  arrived  at  an  estimate  of  Peter's  character 
diametrically  opposite  to  that  which  generally  obtains, 
and  discovered  that  he  had  no  sympathy  whatever  with 
the  Petrine  period  itself.  "  Not  only  do  1  find  nothing 
great  in  the  personality  and  the  acts  of  Peter  I.,  but  I 
find  that  everything  on  the  contrary  was  very  bad," 
writes  Tolstoi.  "  In  all  his  so-called  reforms  he  only 
looked  after  his  own  personal  profit  and  not  after  the 
interests  of  the  State.  In  consequence  of  his  disagree- 
tnent  with  the  Boyars  as  to  his  reforms,  he  founded 
St.  Petersburg  simply  in  order  to  be  further  away 
from  them  and  to  live  his  immoral  life  more  freely!' 
The  sentence  I  have  under-lined  is  a  characteristic 
specimen  of  Tolstoi's  unconscious  one-sidedness,  and 
of  his  inability  to  do  justice  to  systems  antagonistic 
to  his  own.  Peter  the  Great  undoubtedly  transferred 
his  capital  to  St.  Petersburg  in  order  to  be  further 
away  from  his  Boyars.  But  why?  Because  he  rightly 
perceived  that  reactionary  Moscow  would  inevitably 
throw  obstacles  in  the  way  of  the  reforms  he  judged 
to  be  indispensable  to  the  civilising  of  ignorant  and 
superstitious  Russia,  whereas  St  Petersburg,  with  the 
command  of  the  sea,  was  a  window  thrown  open  to 
the  humanizing  influences  of  the  West  The  prospect 
of  greater  license  on  the  Neva  than  on  the  Moskva 
never  entered  into  Peter's  thoughts.  Peter  was 
always  and  everywhere  frankly  sensual ;   his  strong 

*  While  in  the  throes  of  composition   Tolstoi  demanded   absolute 
quiet,  not  even  his  wife  being  allowed  to  interrupt  him. 

37 


Biography 

sexual  instincts  had  no  respect  whatever  for  either 
persons  or  places. 

I  suspect  myself  that  Tolstoi's  real  quarrel  with 
Peter  was  due  to  the  fact  that  the  great  Tsar  was 
an  unanswerable  confutation  of  the  novelist's  pet 
theory  of  the  uselessness  of  independent  individuality, 
for  if  ever  a  man  was  superior  to  his  age  and  his 
environment,  and  moulded  them  both  to  his  will,  it 
was  Peter  the  Great.  And  yet  there  is  a  moral 
grandeur  in  Tolstoi's  refusal  to  admire  the  exploits 
of  the  great  national  regenerator  who  owed  so  much 
of  his  success  to  the  unflinching  application  of  mere 
brute  force.  Mere  achievement,  however  im^pressive, 
could  never  blind  Tolstoi  to  the  absence  of  moral 
greatness.  We  cannot,  for  instance,  imagine  him 
(making  a  hero  of  a  successful  political  freebooter  like 
Frederick  II.  of  Prussia. 

"  Anna  Karenina,"  Tolstoi's  second  great  work  (his 
greatest  in  the  opinion  of  many),  was  written  between 
1873  ^^^  1876.  The  first  seven  parts  appeared 
originally  in  the  leading  Moscow  magazine,  Kiissky 
Yyestnik,  which,  under  the  editorship  of  the  eminent 
publicist,  Michael  Katkov,  was  a  power  in  Russia. 
When,  however,  Katkov  objected  to  certain  portions 
of  the  eighth  part  of  "  Anna  Karenina,"  which  was 
diametrically  opposed  to  his  reactionary  views,  Tolstoi 
was  greatly  incensed,  and  cancelled  his  engagement 
with  Katkov.  "  How  dare  a  mere  journalist  alter  a 
single  line  of  my  work  ?  "  he  cried.  Tolstoi  indeed 
never  had  any  great  love  for  newspapers  or  gazettes. 
"I  never  read  anything  but  classics,"  he  once 
replied  to  a  person  who   inquired  what  he   usually 

38 


Biography 

read.  Yet  very  few  classics  really  satisfied  him.  It 
was  only  after  considerable  hesitation  that  he  allowed 
that  that  incomparable  master  of  style,  Pushkin,  for 
instance,  deserved  the  name  of  a  classic  at  all,  and  even 
then  Tolstoi  was  never  tired  of  accusing  the  author 
of  "  Eugene  Onyegin  "  of  an  excessive  lightness  of 
touch  and  a  tendency  to  sacrifice  truth  and  even 
intelligibility  to  brilliant  and  dramatic  effects. 
Goethe,  too,  was  never  one  of  his  favourites. 
"  Righteous  God !  "  he  cried,  with  an  emphasis  that 
was  anything  but  profane,  "  Goethe  always  forgets 
morality  in  his  pursuit  of  beauty,  and  without  the 
former  the  latter  is  worth  nothing."  In  1870  he 
began  to  study  Greek  and  would  read  nothing  else. 
Xenophon  greatly  pleased  him,  but  he  was  still  more 
delighted  with  Homer.  "  How  glad  I  am  that  God 
has  given  me  the  humour  for  it,"  he  writes  to  a  friend  ; 
"  I  am  convinced  that  of  all  the  truly  beautiful,  the 
simply  beautiful  which  the  human  mind  has  pro- 
duced, I  hitherto  knew  nothing."  Of  his  own  literary 
work  he  was  still  very  proud,  and  yet  his  complacency 
was  not  without  a  tinge  of  self -contempt.  In  1876 
he  wrote  to  a  friend,  "  I  continue  under  the  delusion 
that  v/hat  I  am  writing  is  very  important,  although  I 
know  that  within  a  month  the  remembrance  of  it  will 
be  on  my  conscience.  Sometimes  I  feel  myself  to  be 
as  a  God  from  whom  nothing  is  concealed,  and  at 
other  times  I  am  as  stupid  as  a  brute  beast."  It 
pleased  him  to  reflect  that  he  was  already  numbered 
amongst  the  greatest  of  Russian  writers,  and  it  is 
certain  that  from  1880  onwards  he  was  without  a  rival 
in  the  national  literature.     In  the  fifties  Turgenev  had 


39 


Biography 

been  in  the  ascendant;  in  the  sixties  he  had  been 
obhged  to  share  that  distinction  with  Ostrovsky  and 
Pisemsky;  in  the  seventies  the  satirist,  Saltuikov, 
and  the  most  Russian  of  all  the  Russian  novelists, 
Dostoevsky,  held  the  public  ;  but  five  years  after  the 
publication  of  "Anna  Karenina,"  Tolstoi  had  dis- 
tanced every  competitor,  and  Wcls  undeniably  supreme. 
And,  characteristically  enough,  just  as  he  had  reached 
the  height  of  his  glory,  doubts  began  to  arise  in  his 
mind  whether,  to  use  a  common  phrase,  the  game 
was  really  worth  the  candle.  Except  for  a  very  brief 
period  in  his  youth  Tolstoi  had  always  despised  mere 
style,*  and  had  resolutely  refused  to  cultivate  the  mere 
prettinesses  of  literature  ;  but  now  he  began  to  doubt 
whether  litefrature  itself,  like  art,  as  to  which  he  had 
already  made  up  his  mind,  was  not  a  vain,  worthless, 
and  even  pernicious  pursuit  "  On  reflecting  upon  the 
fame  I  should  gain  from  my  writings,"  he  tells  us,  "  I 
said  to  myself :  Good !  supposing  you  become  more 
famous  even  than  Gogol,  than  Pushkin,  than  Shakes- 
peare, than  Moliere,  than  all  the  great  writers  of  the 
Kvorld,  what  then?  And  I  could  find  nothing  to  say, 
absolutely  nothing.  .  .  .  Some  indefinable  power 
drove  me  towards  the  idea  of  ridding  myself  of  life 
somehow  or  other.  Indeed,  the  thought  of  suicide 
became  so  attractive  that  I  had  to  use  artifice  against 
it  so  as  not  immediately  to  put  it  into  execution.  And 
this  happened  to  me  when  I  was  completely  happy, 

*  In  his  youth  Tolstoi  took  some  pains  to  cultivate  an  elegant  and 
beautiful  style,  which  is  seen  at  its  best  in  **  Kazaki "  ("  The  Cossacks  "), 
published  in  1861.  Yet  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  his  later  style,  so 
noble,  simple,  clear,  poignant,  and  precise,  with  a  constantly  underlying 
suggestion  of  vast  elemental  power,  is  far  more  impressive. 

40 


Biography 

when  I  had  absolutely  everything  I  wanted' :  a  hand- 
some family,  ample  means,  fame  constantly  increasing, 
the  respect  of  my  neighbours,  health,  strength  of  mind 
and  body,  apparently  everything.  So  long  as  I  fancied 
life  had  some  meaning  in  it,  although  I  knew  not  how 
to  express  it,  the  reflection  of  life  in  art  gave  me 
pleasure,  and  it  was  pleasant  to  me  to  look  upon  life 
in  this  mirror  called  art.  But  when  I  tried  to  dis- 
cover the  meaning  of  it  all,  the  mirror  struck  me  as 
tantalizing,  or  as  simply  nothing  at  all."  This  was 
in  1 88 1.  Evidently  a  mental  and  moral  crisis  was 
approaching.  Twenty  years  previously  he  had  been 
tormented  by  similar  doubts,  and,  after  much 
torturing  self-analysis,  had  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  his  writings  were  of  no  use  to  the  people  at 
large  (in  his  mind  the  sole  true  test  of  their  utility), 
and  simply  the  product  of  egoism  and  self-glorification. 
"  It  is  plain  to  me,"  he  wrote  in  1861,  "  that  the  com- 
piling of  magazines  and  books,  the  immense  and 
ceaseless  process  of  printing  and  publishing  may  be 
profitable  enough  for  authors,  printers,  and  publishers, 
but  bring  no  benefit  to  the  people,  and  therefore 
stands  self-condemned."  But  then  he  had  married. 
The  happiness  of  a  well-assorted  match  and  a  tranquil 
family  life  drew  him  quite  away  from  all  seeking 
after  a  general  theory  of  life,  and,  as  Tolstoi  himself 
characteristically  puts  it,  "although  I  considered  all 
writing  to  be  rubbish,  I  went  on  writing,  nevertheless, 
for  I  had  tasted  of  the  seduction  of  writing,  the 
seduction  of  the  enormous  literary  renown  of  work 
which  was  really  worthless." 

But  now,  after  an  interval  of  twenty  years,  all  the 

41 


Biography 

old  doubts  and  misgivings  had  returned  with  tenfold 
■force,  and  Tolstoi  was  powerless  to  resist  them. 
Utterly  dissatisfied  with  the  life  he  was  living,  con- 
vinced that  it  was  both  "  senseless  and  terrible,"  he 
looked  about  him  for  something  which  would  better 
satisfy  his  heart  and  conscience.  First  he  turned  to 
Science,  only  to  receive  an  interminable  quantity  of 
dark  answers  to  questions  he  had  never  asked,  but  as 
to  the  meaning  of  life  he  did  not  receive,  and  of 
course  could  not  receive  any  answer,  for  Science  does 
not  and  cannot  occupy  herself  with  such  a  question. 
Next  he  applied  to  Philosophy,  but  Philosophy  could 
but  tell  him  that  the  only  way  out  of  life  was  through 
death.  Finally,  he  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that 
Faith  was  the  one  mainstay  of  life — 'but  where  was 
Faith  to  be  found?  To  acquire  knowledge  is  easy, 
but  to  acquire  faith  when  you  have  none  within  you 
seemed  well-nigh  impossible.  In  this  dilemma  Tolstoi 
began  by  consorting  with  monks  and  pilgrims,  by 
frequenting  the  Optinsky  monastery,  by  shutting  him- 
self in  his  own  room  for  private  prayer,  studying  the 
Scriptures,  and  consulting  Cathohcs,  Protestants,  and 
Raskolniks  indiscriminately.  He  even  took  lessons 
in  Hebrew  from  the  Chief  Rabbi  of  Moscow — and  all 
without  being  able  to  arrive  at  any  conclusion.  "  I 
had  lived  in  the  world  five-and-fifty  years,"  he 
pathetically  confesses,  "  and  during  all  that  time, 
excluding  fourteen  or  fifteen  childish  years,  I  had 
lived  as  a  Nihilist  in  the  completest  sense  of  the  word, 
that  is  to  say,  not  as  a  socialist  or  a  revolutionist, 
as  the  word  is  commonly  understood,  but  as  one 
who  had  no  faith,  who  had  nothing.      Science  and 

42 


Biography 

Philosophy  tell  us  that  we  must  go  on  living  as  we 
are,  in  the  firm  belief  that,  according  to  the  law  of 
historical  progress,  after  living  for  a  long  time  badly, 
our  life  will  right  itself  and  suddenly  become  good  of 
its  own  accord."  We  all  know  how  the  crisis  ended. 
We  ail  know  hoW  Tolstoi  found  peace  at  last  by 
resolutely  devoting  his  whole  life  to  labouring  for  the 
people  in  the  spirit  of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount. 
"  Live  according  to  faith,  and  faith  will  come  to  you," 
was  his  eureka.  His  eccentric,  arbitrary,  and — there 
is  really  no  other  word  for  it — his  absurd  mutilation 
of  Scripture,  which  he  was  forced  to  recast  in  order 
to  make  it  fit  in  with  his  own  very  peculiar  version 
of  the  Gospels  (as  to  which  by  the  way  he  dog- 
matizes every  whit  as  magisterially  as  the  church 
which  he  so  hastily  disparaged  and  which  was  finally 
driven  to  condemn  him),  are  too  well  known 
to  be  alluded  to  here.  But  however  we  may 
deplore  Tolstoi's  provocative  method  of  biblical 
interpretation,  we  cannot  but  reverence  the  sublime 
unselfishness  of  the  life  he  has  led  ever  since 
what  we  may  perhaps  call  his  conversion.  From 
1 88 1  to  the  present  time,  he  has  literally  devoted 
himself,  body  and  soul,  to  the  ser\ace  of  his  poorer 
brethren,  the  Russian  muzhiks,  for  whom  he  has 
always  had  an  intense  sympathy  and  admiration.  He 
has  done  this  in  two  ways,  by  working  among  them 
and  by  writing  for  them.  He  had  always  been  of 
the  opinion  that  "  the  only  really  honest  labour  worthy 
of  a  man  was  manual  labour,"  and  from  henceforth  he 
adopted  the  life  of  a  common  peasant,  and  worked 
vigorously  alongside  his  labourers  in  his  own  fields. 

43 


Biography 

"  It  is  better,"  he  observes,  with  equal  wisdom  and 
humanity,  "  it  is  better  to  help  the  poor  by  actually 
working  at  their  own  handicraft  with  them,  than  doing 
higher  and  perhaps  more  lucrative  work,  and  giving 
them  the  profits  thereof,  inasmuch  as  by  working  with 
them  you  teach  them  to  respect  their  own  particular 
work  by  showing  them  that  you  yourself  do  not 
despise  it,  whereas  any  money  you  might  give  them 
would  be  apt  to  make  them  indolent  and  lazy."  So 
he  set  about  tilling  his  own  fields,  thatching  his  own 
cottage  roofs,  and  teaching  his  peasantry  thrift  and 
economy  by  his  own  personal  example.  Nor  was 
this  all.  During  the  terrible  winter  of  1891-92,  when 
whole  provinces  of  the  Russian  Empire  presented  the 
terrible  and  pathetic  spectacle  of  an  entire  agricul- 
tural population,  overwhelmed  by  snow,  dying  in 
thousands,  without  a  word  of  complaint,  though 
absolutely  deprived  of  food,  clothes,  or  firewood, 
Tolstoi  hastened  to  the  afflicted  districts,  and  fed 
thousands  daily  at  his  own  expense  at  improvised 
ordinaries,  never  quitting  his  post  for  a  single  instant 
till  all  danger  w^as  at  an  end.  Indeed,  but  for  his 
indefatigable  efforts,  whole  parishes  would  have  been 
depopulated.  Nor  was  this  the  first  time  that  Tolstoi 
had  shown  himself  the  benefactor  of  the  people. 
Some  ten  years  before,  when  a  terrible  famine  v/as 
raging  in  the  Province  of  Samara,  which  calamity, 
apparently  for  economical  reasons,  was  not  "  officially 
recognised,"  Tolstoi  collected  subscriptions  for  the 
relief  of  the  dying  peasantry,  and,  energetically  aided 
by  Katkov  and  the  Moscow  Gazette,  never  ceased 
calling  attention  to  the  catastrophe  till  he  actually 

44 


Biography 

compelled  the  reluctant  Government  tardily  to  do  its 
duty  and  mitigate  a  disaster  it  could  no  longer  deny. 

But  perhaps  Tolstoi  has  done  even  greater  service 
to  his  beloved  muzhiks  with  his  pen  than  with  his 
purse.  Between  1880  and  1896  he  composed  for 
their  benefit  that  series  of  simple,  touching  stories,  so 
truly  humane,  so  deeply  Christian,  and  also,  despite 
his  own  intentions,  such  exquisite  masterpieces  of 
realistic  art  in  the  truest  sense  of  the  word,  some  of 
the  best  of  which  were  selected  to  form  my  former 
volume :  "  Tales  from  Tolstoi."  We  learn  from  his 
letter  to  Dembinsky  in  1886,  what  moved  Tolstoi 
thus  to  cater  for  the  humblest  of  his  readers  :  "  These 
millions  of  poor  Russians  who  just  know  their  letters 
stand  before  us  like  so  many  hungry  little  daws  with 
wide-open  mouths  crying  to  us  :  '  Gospoda*  native 
writers  !  throw  into  these  mouths  of  ours  spiritual  food 
worthy  of  you  and  us,  nourish  us  hungry  ones  with  the 
living  literary  word  ! ' — And  the  simple  and  honest 
Russian  people  deserves  that  we  should  respond  to 
its  call." 

During  the  years  immediately  preceding  the  publi- 
cation of  these  further  translations  Tolstoi  lived  for 
the  most  part  at  Yasnaya  Polyana,  in  the  bosom  of 
his  family,  working  with  and  for  his  tenants  continu- 
ally, and  yet  finding  time  to  answer  daily  the 
thousands  of  letters  which  reached  him  from  all  parts 
of  the  world,  asking  for  his  counsel  and  assistance 
in  every  imaginable  sort  of  difficulty.  He  has  been, 
with  perhaps  the  single  exception  of  Fr.  John   of 

*  Gentlemen. 
45 


Biography 

Cronstadt,  indisputably  the  most  popular  personage 
in  the  Empire  of  the  Tsar.  In  the  winter  he  generally 
resides  at  Moscow,  frequenting,  by  preference,  chari- 
table institutions  and  working  men's  concerts,  despite 
his  advanced  age  taking  the  liveliest  interest  in  every 
question  of  the  day,  especially  those  relating  to 
religion  and  morality,  and  delighting  everyone  by  the 
alertness  of  his  intelligence  and  the  generous  breadth 
of  his  sympathy.  In  1899  the  veteran  astonished 
and  delighted  the  world  of  literature  with  his 
"  Voskresenie "  ("  Resurrection  "),  a  noble  work 
(despite  its  occasional  extravagances)  from  every 
point  of  view,  worthy  of  his  best  days,  demonstrating 
that  the  hand  of  the  master  had  lost  none  of  its 
cunning,  and  piercing  with  the  divination  of  genius 
to  the  deepest  depths  of  human  impulse  and  motive. 

R.  NiSBET  Bain. 

April,  1902. 


46 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi. 


f.— THE  SNOWSTORM 

I. 

At  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening,  after  drinking  tea 
I  departed  from  a  post-station,  the  name  of  which  I 
don't  remember,  but  I  recollect  it  was  somewhere  in 
the  military  district  of  the  Don,  near  Novochirkask. 
It  v/as  already  dark  when,  wrapped  up  in  my 
furs,  I  sat  dowm  with  Alec  in  the  sledge.  In 
the  shelter  of  the  post-station  it  seemed  warm  and 
still.  Although  there  was  no  snow  above  us,  not  a 
single  tiny  star  was  visible  above  our  heads,  and  the 
sky  appeared  to  be  extraordinarily  low  and  black  in 
comparison  v/ith  the  pure  snowy  plain  stretching  out 
before  us. 

We  had  scarce  passed  the  dark  figures  of  the  mills 
— one  of  which  was  clumsily  waving  one  of  its  huge 
wings — and  got  clear  of  the  station  when  I  observed 
that  the  road  was  heavier  and  more  obstructed,  and 
the  wind  began  to  blow  upon  my  left  side  more 
violently  and  beat  upon  the  flank,  tail,  and  mane  of  the 
horse  and  regularly  raise  and  carry  away  the  snow 

47 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

torn  up  by  the  curved  shafts  of  the  sledge  and  the 
hoofs  of  the  horses.  The  little  sledge-bell  began  to  be 
silent,  a  current  of  cold  air  began  to  flow  from  some 
opening  into  my  sleeve  and  down  my  back,  and  the 
advice  of  the  inspector  not  to  go  at  all,  lest  I  should 
wander  about  the  whole  night  and  be  frozen  to  death 
on  the  road,  at  once  occurred  to  me. 

"  Haven't  we  lost  our  way  ?  "  I  said  to  the  driver  ; 
and  receiving  no  answer,  I  repeated  the  question  in 
a  still  plainer  form :  "  Do  you  think  we  shall  reach 
the  post-station,  driver,  or  shall  we  lose  our  way  ?  " 

"  God  knows ! "  he  replied,  without  turning  his 
head,  "  it's  only  human  to  go  astray,  and  the  road  is 
nowhere  visible,  my  little  master ! " 

"Will  you  tell  me  whether  you  think  we  shall 
get  to  the  post-station  or  not  ?  "  I  continued  to  ask. 
"  Shall  we  get  there,  I  say  ?  " 

**  We  ought  to  get  there,"  said  the  driver,  and  he 
murmured  something  else  which  I  could  not  quite 
catch  because  of  the  wind. 

I  didn't  want  to  turn  back,  but  to  wander  about  all 
night  in  the  frost  and  snow  in  the  absolutely  barren 
steppe  as  this  part  of  the  military  district  of  the 
Don  really  is,  was  also  not  a  very  pleasant  prospect 
to  contemplate.  Moreover,  although  I  was  unable  to 
examine  him  very  well  in  the  darkness,  my  driver, 
somehow  or  other,  did  not  please  me,  nor  did  he 
inspire  me  with  confidence.  He  sat  squarely  instead 
of  sideways  ;  his  body  was  too  big ;  his  voice  had  too 
much  of  a  drawl ;  his  hat,  somehow  or  other,  was 
not  a  driver's  hat — it  was  too  big  and  bulgy  ;  he  did 
not  urge  on  the  horses  as  he  should  have  done  ;   he 

48 


The  Snowstorm 

held  the  reins  in  both  hands  as  a  lacquey  does  who 
sits  on  the  box  behind  the  coachman  and,  above  all, 
I  did  not  believe  in  him  because  his  ears  were  tied 
round  with  a  cloth.  In  a  word,  I  did  not  like  the 
look  of  him,  and  that  serious  hunched  back  of  his 
bobbing  up  and  down  before  me  boded  no  good. 

'•  In  my  opinion  it  would  be  better  to  turn  back," 
said  Alec  ;  "  it  is  no  joke  to  get  lost." 

"  My  little  master,  you  see  what  sort  of  driving  it 
is  :  no  road  to  be  seen,  and  your  eyes  all  bunged  up  !  " 
growled  the  driver. 

We  hadn't  gone  a  quarter  of  an  hour  when  the 
driver  stopped  the  horses,  gave  the  reins  to  Alec, 
clumsily  disengaged  his  legs  from  their  sitting 
position  and,  tramphng  over  the  snow  in  his  big 
boots,  went  to  try  and  find  the  road. 

"  I  say,  where  are  you  ?  "  I  cried,  "  have  we  gone 
astray,  or  what  ? " 

But  the  driver  did  not  answer,  me  and  turning  his 
face  in  the  opposite  direction  to  that  in  which  the 
wind  was  blowing — it  had  cut  him  in  the  very  eyes — 
went  away  from  the  sledge. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  "  I  asked  when  he  had  turned 
back  again. 

"  Nothing  at  all,"  said  he  with  sudden  impatience 
and  anger,  as  if  it  was  my  fault  that  he  had  lost  the 
road,  and  slowly  thrusting  his  big  boots  into  the 
front  part  of  the  sledge  again,  he  slowly  grasped  the 
reins  together  with  his  frozen  mittens. 

"  What  shall  we  do  ? "  I  asked  when  we  had  again 
moved  forward. 

"  Do  ?    Why,  go  whither  God  allows  us !  "   And  on 

49  D 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

we  went  at  the  same  jig-trot,  obviously  across 
country,  sometimes  over  snow  piled  up  bushels  high, 
sometimes  over  brittle,  naked  ice. 

Notwithstanding  the  cold,  the  snow  on  our  collars 
thawed  very  quickly  ;  the  snow  drift  below  increased 
continually,  and  fine  dry  flakes  began  to  fall  from 
above. 

It  was  plain  we  were  going  God  only  knew  whither, 
for  after  going  along  for  another  quarter  of  an  hour 
we  did  not  see  a  single  verst  post.* 

"  What  do  you  think,  eh  ? "  I  said  again  to  the 
driver ;  "  do  you  think  we  shall  get  to  the  station  ?  " 

"  To  which  station  ?  We  may  get  back,  if  the 
horses  take  it  into  their  heads  to  try,  they'll  take  us 
right  enough,  but  as  to  reaching  the  other  station, 
scarcely,  we  might  perish,  that's  all." 

"  Then  turn  back  by  all  means,"  said  I,  "  at  any 
rate.  .  ." 

"  Turn  the  horses  round,  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Yes,  turn  'em  round  ! " 

The  driver  let  go  the  reins.  The  horses  began  to 
run  more  quickly,  and  although  I  observed  that  we 
had  turned  round,  yet  the  wind  had  changed  too,  and 
soon,  through  the  snow  the  windmills  were  visible. 
The  driver  took  heart  again  and  began  to  be 
loquacious. 

*'The  Anudiuses  got  into  the  drifts  and  turned 
back  just  in  the  same  way  when  they  came  from  this 
station, "  said  he,  **  and  passed  the  night  by 
the  haystacks  ;  they  only  got  in  by  morning. 
They  were  only  too  thankful  for  the  shelter  of  the 
*  Corresponding  to  our  milestone. 
50 


The  Snowstorm 

haystacks  ;  they  might  have  easily  frozen  to  death.  It 
was  cold,  and  one  of  them  did  have  his  legs  frost- 
bitten, so  that  he  died  of  it  three  weeks  later." 

"  But  now  you  see  it  is  not  so  cold,  and  it  has  grown 
quieter  ;  might  not  we  drive  on  now,  eh  ?" 

"  It's  fairly  warm,  warm,  oh  yes  !  and  the  snow's 
coming  down.  Now  we'll  turn  back,  as  it  seems 
easier  going  and  the  snow  comes  down  thicker.  You 
might  drive  if  you  had  a  courier,  but  you'll  do  it  at 
your  own  risk.  Are  you  joking?  Why,  you'd  be 
frozen  !  And  what  should  I  say  who  am  responsible 
for  your  honour  ?  " 

II. 

Just  then  there  was  a  sound  of  little  bells  behind  us, 
the  bells  of  some  troika,  a  three-horse  sledge,  which 
was  rapidly  overtaking  us. 

"  That  is  a  courier's  bell,"  said  my  driver  ;  "  there's 
one  such  courier  at  every  post-station." 

And,  indeed,  the  little  bell  of  the  front  troika,  the 
sound  of  which  was  now  plainly  borne  to  us  by  the 
wind,  was  an  extraordinarily  welcome  sound  to 
hear :  a  pure,  musical,  sonorous,  and  slightly  droning 
sound.  As  I  afterwards  ascertained,  it  was  a  hunter's 
arrangement  of  three  little  bells — one  big  one  in  the 
centre  and  two  little  ones  adjusted  to  tierce.  The 
sound  of  this  tierce  and  the  droning  quinte,  resound- 
ing through  the  air,  was  extraordinarily  penetrating 
and  strangely  pleasant  in  that  vast  and  voiceless 
steppe. 

"  The  post  is  in  haste,"  said  my  driver  when  the 
foremost  of  the   three    horses    was    level    with   us. 

51 


More  Tales  fr»om  Tolstoi 

"  What  sort  of  a  road,  eh  ?  Can  one  get  through  ?  " 
cried  he  to  the  hindmost  driver  ;  but  the  fellow  only 
shouted  to  his  horses  and  didn't  answer  him. 

The  sound  of  the  little  bells  quickly  died  away  on 
the  wind  as  soon  as  the  post-car  had  passed  us. 

My  driver  must  now  have  felt  a  bit  ashamed,  I 
fancy. 

"  We'll  go  on,  sir,"  said  he  ;  "  these  people  have 
gone  on  before  us  and  have  left  a  fresh  track,  which 
we  can  now  follow." 

I  agreed,  and  again  we  turned  towards  the  wind 
and  crawled  along  a  bit  through  the  deep  snow.  I 
kept  a  side-long  glance  upon  the  road  so  as  to  see 
that  we  did  not  wander  away  from  the  track  made  by 
the  sledge.  For  two  versts  the  track  was  plainly 
visible,  after  that  the  only  thing  observable  was  a 
very  slight  unevenness  under  the  curved  sides  of  the 
sledge,  and  I  began  to  look  straight  in  front  of  me. 
The  third  verst  pole  we  could  still  make  out,  but  the 
fourth  we  could  not  find  at  all.  As  before,  we  were 
driving  both  against  and  with  the  wind,  both  left  and 
right,  and  at  last  it  got  to  such  a  pass  that  the  driver 
said  we  had  deviated  to  the  right.  I  said  we  had  gone 
to  the  left,  while  Alec  proved  that  we  were  absolutely 
going  back  again.  Once  more  we  stopped  for  a 
while,  the  driver  extricated  his  big  feet  and  crawled 
out  to  find  the  road  ;  but  it  was  all  in  vain.  I  also 
made  up  my  mind  to  get  out  for  once  and  see  for 
myself  whether  that  was  not  the  road  which  I  saw 
glimmering  indistinctly;  but  scarcely  had  I  taken  six 
steps  forward,  with  the  utmost  difficulty,  against  the 
wind  and  persuaded    myself  that   everywhere   were 

52 


The  Snowstopm 

the  selfsame  uniform  white  layers  of  snow  and  that 
the  road  existed  only  in  my  imagination — than  I  no 
longer  saw  the  sledge. 

"  Driver  1  Alec  !  "  I  cried,  but  my  voice  ! — well  I  felt 
that  the  wind  snatched  it  right  out  of  my  mouth  and 
carried  it  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  away  from  me. 
I  have  a  very  distinct  recollection  of  the  loud, 
penetrating,  and  even  desperate  voice  with  which  I 
once  more  yelled  :  "  Driver  !  "  when  he  was  only  two 
good  paces  distant  from  me.  His  black  figure,  whip 
in  hand,  and  with  his  large  hat  perched  on  one  side, 
suddenly  grew  up  in  front  of  me.  He  led  me  to  the 
sledge. 

"  Still  warm,  thank  goodness  ! "  said  he,  "  but  it's 
bad  if  the  frost  does  catch  you,  my  little  master  !  " 
said  he. 

"  Let  the  horses  go-;  we  must  go  back,"  said  I, 
taking,  my  seat  on  the  sledge.  "  1  suppose  you  can 
guide  them,  driver  ?  " 

"  I  must  guide  them." 

He  threw  aside  the  reins,  struck  the  saddle  of  the 
thill  horse  thrice  with  his  whip  and  again  we  went  on 
somewhither  for  a  bit.  We  went  along  for  about 
half  an  hour.  Suddenly  we  again  heard  in  front  of 
us  the,  to  me,  familiar  little  hunting-bell  and  two  more 
besides  ;  but  this  time  they  were  coming  towards  us. 
It  was  the  same  three  troikas  returning  to  the 
post-station  after  delivering  the  mails,  with  the  fresh 
horses  fastened  on  behind.  The  courier  s  troika^  with 
its  three  powerful  horses  with  the  hunting  bells  came 
rapidly  forward.  A  single  driver  sat  on  the  box, 
shouting  lustily.     Behind,  in  the  middle  of  the  empty 

53 


Mope  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

sledge,  sat  a  couple  of  drivers.  I  could  hear  their  loud 
and  merry  discourse.  One  of  them  was  smoking 
a  pipe,  and  the  sparks,  kindled  by  the  wind,  lit  up 
part  of  his  face. 

As  I  looked  at  them  I  began  to  be  ashamed  that  I 
had  been  afraid  to  go  on,  and  my  driver  must  have 
experienced  much  the  same  sensation,  for  we  said 
with  one  voice  :  "  Let  us  go  after  them." 

Ill, 

The  hindmost  troikas  had  not  yet  passed  when 
my  driver  turned  clumsily  and  struck  the  attached 
horses  with  the  sledge  shafts.  One  of  the  troika 
team  thereupon  fell  heavily,  tearing  away  the  traces 
and  plunging  to  one  side. 

"  You  cock-eyed  devil,  don't  you  see  where  you're 
going,  driving  over  people  like  that?  Devil  take 
you !  "  began  one  of  the  drivers  in  a  hoarse,  quavering 
voice. 

He  was  smallish  and  an  old  fellow,  as  far  as  I 
could  judge  from  his  voice  and  his  position.  He  had 
been  sitting  in  the  hinder  troika^  but  now  leaped 
quickly  out  of  the  sledge  and  ran  to  the  horses,  never 
ceasing  the  whole  time  to  curse  my  driver  in  the 
most  coarse  and  cruel  manner. 

But  the  horses  would  not  be  pacified.  The  driver 
ran  after  them,  and  in  a  minute  both  horses  and 
driver  had  vanished  in  the  white  mist  of  the  snow- 
storm. 

"  Vas-il-y  !  bring  the  chestnut  hither,  we  shall  never 
get  them  else,"  his  voice  still  resounded. 

54 


The  Snowstorm 

One  of  the  drivers,  a  very  tall  man,  got  out  of  the 
sledge,  silently  detached  his  three  horses,"  saddled 
and  bridled  one  of  them,  and,  crunching  the  snow 
beneath  him,  disappeared  in  the  direction  of  his 
comrade.  We,  with  the  two  other  horses,  went  after 
the  courier's  troika,  which,  ringing  its  bell,  set  off  in 
front  at  full  gallop ;  we  just  let  ourselves  go  without 
troubling  any  more  about  the  road. 

"  A  pretty  way  of  catching  them  I  "  said  my  driver, 
alluding  to  the  other  driver,  who  had  gone  off  after 
the  horses;  "he'll  never  catch'  em,  and  he's  leading 
the  spare  horse  to  a  place  he'll  never  get  him  out  of 
again." 

Ever  since  my  driver  had  begun  to  go  back,  he 
had  become  in  better  spirits  and  more  inclined  to  be 
talkative,  which  I,  of  course,  did  not  fail  to  take 
advantage  of  as,  so  far,  I  had  no  desire  to  sleep.  I 
began  to  ask  him  all  about  himself  and  whence  he 
came,  and  soon  found  out  that  he  was  a  fellow- 
countryman,  hailing  from  Tula  country,  being  a  small 
proprietor  in  the  village  of  Kirpechny ;  that  their 
land  was  of  very  little  good  to  them  and  had 
quite  ceased  to  produce  grain  since  the  cholera  visi- 
tation ;  that  there  were  two  brothers  at  home,  while 
a  third  had  enlisted  as  a  soldier ;  that  the  supply  of 
bread  would  not  hold  out  till  Christmas,  and  they  had 
to  hire  themselves  out  to  make  more  money  ;  that  the 
younger  brother  was  master  in  the  house  because  he 
was  married,  while  my  friend  was  a  widower ;  that  an 
artely  or  society  of  drivers.  Went  forth  from  their 
village  every  year  ;  that  though  he  was  not  a 
coachman  by  profession  he  served  at  the  post-station 

55 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

in  order  to  be  of  some  help  to  his  brother ;  that 
he  lived  here,  thank  God,  on  120  paper  roubles 
a  year,  of  which  he  sent  a  hundred  home  to  his  family, 
and  that  he  had  a  pretty  good  time  of  it,  but  that 
couriers  were  veritable  beasts,  and  that  the  people  he 
had  to  do  with  here  were  always  cursing  him. 

"  That  driver,  for  instance,  why  should  he  curse  me  ? 
my  little  master!  Did  I  overturn  his  horses  on 
purpose  ?  Why,  I  wouldn't  do  any  harm  to  anyone  ! 
And  why  should  he  go  scurrying  after  them  ? 
They  would  be  sure  to  come  back  of  their  own 
accord.  And  now.  he'll  only  make  the  horses  starve 
to  death  besides  coming  to  grief  himself"  repeated 
the  God-fearing  little  muzhik. 

"But  what  is  that  black  thing  yonder?"  said  I, 
observing  some  black  objects  just  in  front  of  us. 

"  A  train  of  wagons  ! — a  nice  way  of  going  along,  I 
must  say,"  continued  he  when  we  had  come  abreast 
with  the  huge  wagons  covered  with  mats,  going  one 
after  another  on  wheels.  "  Look  !  not  a  soul  to  be 
seen  ;  they  are  all  asleep.  The  horse  is  the  wisest  of 
them  all.  He  knows  very  well  what  he  is  about. 
Nothing  in  the  world  will  make  him  miss  the  road. 
"We  too  will  go  alongside  of  them  and  then  we  shall  be 
all  right,"  added  he,  "  and  know  where  we  are  going." 

It  really  was  a  curious  sight.  There  were  those 
huge  wagons  covered  with  snow  from  the  matting 
atop  to  the  wheels  below,  moving  along  absolutely 
alone.  Only  in  the  front  corner  the  snow-covered 
mat  was  raised  a  couple  of  inches  for  a  moment  as 
our  little  bells  resounded  close  to  the  wagons  and 
a   hat  popped    up.      The    big    piebald    horse,   with 

56 


The  Snowstopm 

outstretched  neck  and  straining  back,  deliberately 
proceeded  along  the  absolutely  hidden  road,  mono- 
tonously shaking  his  shaggy  head  beneath  the 
whitening  shaft  and  pricking  up  one  snow-covered  ear 
as  we  came  abreast  of  him. 

After  we  had  gone  on  for  another  half-hour  the 
driver  again  turned  to  me. 

"  What  do  you  think,  sir ;  we  are  going  nicely 
along  now,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  replied. 

"  Before,  the  wind  was  anyhow,  but  now  we  are 
going  right  in  the  midst  of  the  storm.  No,  we  shall 
not  get  there  ;  we  too  have  lost  our  way,"  he 
concluded  with  the  utmost  calmness. 

Evidently,  although  a  great  coward,  and  afraid  of 
his  own  shadow,  he  had  become  quite  tranquil  as 
soon  as  there  were  a  good  many  of  us  together  and 
he  was  not  obliged  to  be  our  guide  and  responsible 
for  us.  With  the  utmost  sang  froid  he  criticised  the 
mistakes  of  the  driver  in  front  of  us  as  if  it  had 
anything  whatever  to  do  with  him.  I  observed 
indeed  that  now  and  then  the  troika  in  front  was 
sometimes  in  profile,  from  my  point  of  view,  to  the 
left  and  sometimes  to  the  right,  and  it  also  seemed  to 
me  as  if  we  were  encircling  a  very  limited  space. 
However,  it  might  have  been  an  optical  delusion,  as 
also  the  circumstance  that,  occasionally,  it  seemed  to 
me  as  if  the  troika  in  front  was  climbing  up  a 
mountain,  or  going  along  a  declivity,  or  under  the 
brow  of  a  hill,  whereas  the  steppe  was  everywhere 
uniformly  level. 

i\fter  we  had  proceeded   for  some  time  longer  I 

57 


Mope  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

observed,  or  so  it  seemed  to  me,  far  away,  on  the  very- 
horizon,  a  long,  black,  moving  strip  of  something  ;  but 
in  a  moment  it  became  quite  plain  to  me  that  this 
was  the  very  same  train  of  wagons  which  we  had 
overtaken  and  outstripped.  Just  the  same  creaking 
wheels,  some  of  them  no  longer  turning,  enveloped  in 
snow ;  just  the  same  people  asleep  beneath  their 
mats,  and  just  the  same  leading  piebald  horse,  with 
steaming,  distended  nostrils,  smelling  out  the  road 
and  pricking  up  his  ears. 

**  Look,  we  have  gone  round  and  round  and  are 
coming  out  by  this  train  of  wagons  again  !  "  said 
my  driver  in  a  sulky  tone.  "  The  courier's  horses 
are  good  ones,  though  he  drives  them  villainously,  but 
ours  are  so-so  and  always  stopping,  just  as  if  we  had 
been  driving  all  night  long." 

He  coughed  a  bit. 

"  Shall  we  turn  off  somewhere,  sir,  for  our  sins  ?  " 

"  Why  ?    We  are  bound  to  arrive  somewhere  as  it  is." 

"  Arrive  somewhere !  We  shall  have  to  make  a 
night  of  it  in  the  steppe :  that's  what  we  shall  do. 
How  it  is  snowing,  my  little  master !" 

Although  it  did  seem  strange  to  me  that  the  driver 
in  front  of  us,  who  had  obviously  lost  his  road  and 
had  no  idea  of  the  direction  in  which  he  was  going, 
took  no  trouble  to  find  it  again,  but  continued  to 
drive  at  full  tilt,  cheerily  shouting  to  his  horses,  I  did 
not  want  to  separate  from  him  all  the  same. 

"  Follow  after  them  ! "  I  said. 

The  driver  went  on,  but  he  drove  along  even  more 
unwillingly  than  before  and  no  longer  conversed  with 
me. 

58 


The  Snowstorm 
IV. 

The  snowstorm  was  growing  more  and  more 
violent.  The  flakes  descended  fine  and  dry,  apparently 
it  was  freezing  hard.  My  nose  and  cheeks  grew 
numb  with  cold,  currents  of  cold  air  penetrated  my 
furs  more  and  more  frequently  and  it  was  necessary 
to  huddle  up  in  them  more  closely.  Occasionally  the 
sledge  bumped  up  against  a  bare,  ice-clad  hummock, 
from  which  it  scattered  the  snow  in  every  direction. 

As  I  had  travelled  some  score  or  so  of  versts 
without  a  night's  rest,  notwithstanding  the  fact 
that  I  was  very  much  interested  in  the  issue  of  our 
wanderings,  I  involuntarily  shut  my  eyes  and  dozed 
off.  All  at  once,  when  I  opened  my  eyes  again,  I 
was  struck  by  what  seemed  to  me  in  the  first 
moment  a  bright  light  illuminating  the  white  plain ; 
the  horizon  had  considerably  widened  ,  the  low,  black 
sky  had  suddenly  disappeared  ;  in  every  direction  were 
visible  white  oblique  lines  of  falling  snow  ;  the  figures 
of  the  troika  people  in  front  appeared  more  plainly, 
and  when  I  looked  upwards  it  seemed  to  me  for  the 
first  moment  as  if  the  clouds  had  parted  and  that 
only  the  falling  snow  covered  the  sky.  Whilst  I  had 
been  slumbering  the  moon  had  arisen  and  threw  her 
cold  and  clear  light  through  the  scattered  clouds  and 
falling  snow.  The  one  thing  I  saw  clearly  was  my 
sledge,  the  horses,  the  driver,  and  the  three  troikas 
going  on  in  front :  the  first  troika,  the  courier's,  on 
the  box  of  which  one  of  the  drivers  was  still  sitting 
urging  his  horses  on  at  a  good  round  pace  ;  the  second, 
in  which  sat  the  two  other  drivers,  who  had  thrown 

59 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

the  reins  aside  and  made  themselves  a  shelter  against 
the  wind  out  of  their  armyaks,"^  never  ceasing  to  smoke 
their  pipes  the  whole  time,  as  was  clear  from  the 
sparks  proceeding  from  that  quarter,  and  the  third 
troika^  in  which  nobody  was  visible — presumably  the 
driver  was  sleeping  in  the  middle  of  it.  Before  I  went 
to  sleep,  however,  the  leading  driver  had  at  rare 
intervals  stopped  his  horses  and  tried  to  find  the  way. 
Then,  every  time  we  stopped,  the  howling  of  the  wind 
became  more  audible  and  the  enormous  quantity  of 
snow  suspended  in  the  air  more  strikingly  visible.  I 
now  saw  by  the  light  of  the  moon,  half  obscured  by 
the  snowstorm,  the  small,  squat  figure  of  the  driver, 
with  the  big  whip  in  his  hand,  with  which  he  flicked 
at  the  snow  in  front  of  him,  moving  backwards 
and  forwards  in  the  bright  mist  and  coming  back 
again  to  the  sledge,  leaping  sideways  on  to  the  box 
seat,  and  amidst  the  monotonous  whistling  of  the 
wind  the  alert,  sonorous  ringing  and  clanging  of  the 
little  bells  was  audible  once  more.  Every  time  the 
driver  in  front  leaped  out  to  look  for  the  road  or  the 
verst  posts  one  could  hear  the  brisk,  self-confident 
voice  of  one  of  the  drivers  shouting  to  the  driver  in 
front : 

"  Do  you  hear,  Ignashka !  take  the  road  to  the 
left!  You'll  find  more  shelter  to  the  right!"  Or^ 
^*  Why  are  you  going  round  and  round  like  a  fool  } 
Go  by  the  snow ;  take  the  lee  of  it,  and  you'll  come 
out  all  right!"  Or,  "A  little  more  to  the  right,  a 
little  more  to  the  right,  my  brother !     Don't  you  see 

*  A  peasant's  cloak  of  rough  camel-hair. 
60 


The  Snowstorm 

there's  something  black  yonder — some  sign-post  or 
other  ?  "  Or,  "  Where  are  you  going  ?  Where  are 
you  going?  Loose  the  piebald  nag  and  go  on  in 
front  and  he'll  guide  you  to  the  road  straight  away. 
It'll  be  much  better  if  you  do  that !  " 

This  selfsame  person,  who  was  so  fond  of  giving 
advice,  not  only  did  not  loose  the  side-horse  and  go 
over  the  snow  to  look  for  the  road,  but  did  not  even 
so  much  as  thrust  his  nose  from  out  of  his  armyak, 
and  when  Ignashka,  the  driver  in  front,  in  reply  to  one 
of  his  counsels,  shouted  to  him  to  go  in  front  himself 
if  he  knew  where  to  go  so  well,  the  counsellor  replied 
that  if  he  had  been  travelling  with  courier's  horses  he 
would  have  gone  on  and  led  them  to  the  right  road 
straight  away,  ''  but  our  horses  cannot  go  on  in  front 
in  snow-drifts,  not  such  nags  as  these,  anyway." 

"Then  you  can  hold  your  jaw!"  replied  Ignashka, 
cheerily  whistling  to  his  horses. 

The  other  driver,  sitting  in  the  same  sledge  with  the 
counsellor,  said  not  a  word  to  Ignashka,  and  in  fact 
did  not  interfere  at  all,  although  he  was  not  asleep 
either,  at  least  I  assumed  as  much  from  the  fact  that 
his  pipe  continued  unextinguished,  and  also  from  the 
circumstance  that  whenever  we  stopped  I  heard  his 
measured,  uninterrupted  narration.  He  was  telling 
some  tale  or  other.  Only  when  Ignashka  suddenly 
halted  for  the  sixth  or  seventh  time,  this  other  driver 
plainly  became  very  angry  at  being  interrupted  by 
such  leisurely  procedure,  and  he  shouted  at  him  : 

"  What !  stopping  again  !  You  want  to  find  the 
road,  eh  ?  It's  a  snowstorm  we're  in,  and  there's  an 
end  of  it !     Why,  even  a  land-surveyor  wouldn't  be 

6i 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

able  to  find  the  road  now.  Go  on  as  long  as  the 
horses  can  drag  us  !  Never  fear  ;  we  shan't  freeze  to 
death  !     Go  on,  I  say ! " 

"  Never  fear,  indeed !  Last  year  a  postilion  was 
frozen  to  death  !  "  observed  my  driver. 

The  driver  of  the  third  troika  did  not  wake  the 
whole  time,  only  once,  during  a  stoppage,  the 
counsellor  shouted : 

"  Philip  !  I  say,  Philip  !  "  and  receiving  no  answer 
observed  :  "  I  wonder  if  he's  frozen }  You  might  go 
and  see,  Ignashka  !  " 

Ignashka,  who  hastened  to  do  everyone's  bidding, 
went  to  the  sledge  and  began  to  shake  the  sleeper. 

"  Why,  he's  drunk  as  drunk — like  a  log ! "  said  he, 
*'  I  say  !  you  !  are  you  frozen  } "  he  said,  shaking 
him  violently. 

The  sleeper  babbled  something  or  other  and  cursed 
him. 

"  He's  alive,  all  right,  my  brother ! "  said  Ignashka  ; 
and  again  he  ran  forward  and  again  we  went  on,  and 
so  quickly  indeed,  this  time,  that  the  little  brown  side 
horse  attached  to  my  troika^  constantly  lashed  up 
from  behind,  more  than  once  broke  into  a  clumsy 
gallop. 


V. 


I  think  it  must  have  been  almost  midnight  when 
we  were  joined  by  the  little  old  man  and  Vas-il-y,  who 
had  been  in  pursuit  of  the  stampeded  horses.  They 
had  found  the  horses  and  pursued  and  overtaken  us ; 
but  how  they  had  done  so  in  the  dark,  blinding  snow- 

62 


\  ■ 


The  Snowstorm 

storm,  in  the  midst  of  the  barren  steppe,  has  always 
remained  unintelligible  to  me.  The  little  old  man, 
moving  his  elbows  and  legs,  rode  up  at  a  gallop  on 
the  brown  horse.  The  two  other  horses  were 
attached  to  the  collar :  in  the  snowstorm  it  was 
impossible  to  leave  the  horses  to  themselves.  On 
coming  up  to  his,  the  old  fellow  began  attacking  my 
driver  again. 

"  Look  here,  you  cock-eyed  devil,  really  if    .     .     ." 

"  Hie,  Uncle  Matvich !  "  shouted  the  tale-teller  from 
the  second  sledge,  "  alive,  eh }  Crawl  in  here !  "  But 
the  old  man  did  not  answer  him,  but  went  on  with 
his  cursing.  When  it  appeared  to  him  that  he  had 
cursed  enough,  he  did  go  to  the  second  sledge. 

"'  Caught  'em  all  ? "  they  said  to  him  from  that 
quarter. 

"  Of  course !  Why  not  >  " 

And  his  diminutive  figure,  on  the  trot,  with  the 
upper  part  of  his  body  bobbing  up  and  down  on  the 
back  of  the  horse,  after  leaping  out  on  to  the  snow, 
ran  forward  without  stopping  behind  the  sledge,  and 
scrambled  in  to  where  they  were,  with  his  legs  sticking 
up  in  the  air  as  he  forced  his  way  through  the  orifice. 
Tall  Vas-il-y,  as  before,  took  his  seat  in  silence  on  the 
box  seat  in  the  foremost  sledge  alongside  Ignashka, 
whom  he  helped  to  look  for  the  road. 

"  You  see  what  a  curser  he  is,  my  little  master  ! " 
murmured  my  driver. 

We  went  along  for  some  time  after  this,  without 
stopping,  over  the  white  wilderness,  in  the  cold,  trans- 
parent, and  quivering  light  of  the  snowstorm.  Every 
time  I  opened  my  eyes,  there  in  front  of  me  was  the 

63 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

selfsame  clumsy  hat  and  back,  covered  with  snow ; 
there,  too,  was  the  selfsame  low  shaft-bow,  beneath 
which,  between  the  tightly  drawn  leather  reins, 
and  always  the  same  distance  off,  the  head  of 
the  brown  horse  with  the  black  mane  deliberately 
bending  in  the  direction  of  the  wind,  moved  slowly 
up  and  down.  Behind  its  back  one  could  also 
see,  to  the  right,  the  bay  side-horse,  with  its  tail 
tied  up  into  a  bunch,  occasionally  bumping  against 
the  front  board  of  the  sledge.  Look  down — and 
there  was  the  selfsame  snow  thumping  against 
the  sides  of  the  sledge,  which  the  wind  stubbornly 
lifted  and  carried  off  in  one  direction.  In  front,  always 
at  the  same  distance,  the  leading  troika  ran  steadily 
along ;  on  the  right  and  on  the  left  everything  was 
white  and  twinkling.  In  vain  the  eye  sought  for 
some  new  object :  not  a  post,  not  a  rick,  not  a  fence — 
nothing  at  all  was  visible.  Everywhere  everything 
was  white,  white  and  mobile  ;  sometimes  the  horizon 
seemed  incomprehensibly  far  off,  sometimes  com- 
pressed within  two  paces  distance  in  every  direction. 
Sometimes  a  high  white  wall  would  grow  up  suddenly 
on  the  right  and  run  alongside  the  sledge,  then  it 
would  as  suddenly  disappear  and  grow  up  in  front 
only  to  run  further  and  further  off  and  again 
disappear.  If  you  looked  up  it  would  appear  quite 
light  the  first  instant,  and  you  would  seem  to  see 
little  stars  through  the  mist ;  but  the  little  stars 
vanished  from  your  view  ever  higher  and  higher,  and 
all  you  saw  was  the  snow,  which  fell  past  your  eyes 
on  to  your  face  and  into  the  collar  of  your  furs  ;  the 
sky  was  identically   bright    everywhere,   identically 

64 


The  Snowstopm 

white,  colourless,  uniform,  and  constantly  mobile. 
The  wind  seemed  to  be  perpetually  shifting.  Now  it 
blew  right  against  you  and  blinded  your  eyes,  now  it 
blew  teasingly  sideways  and  flung  the  collar  of  your 
fur  coat  over  your  head  and  mockingly  flapped  it  in 
your  face,  now  it  would  howl  from  behind  through  some 
unprotected  crevice.  Audible  throughout  was  the 
faint,  miserable  crunching  of  hoofs  and  sledge-boards 
over  the  snow  and  the  expiring  tinkle  of  the  little 
bells  when  we  passed  over  deep  snow.  Only  very 
rarely,  when  we  drove  against  the  wind,  and  over  naked, 
frozen,  stony  ground,  did  the  energetic  whistling  of 
Ignaty  and  the  thrilling  sound  of  the  little  bell  with 
the  resonant,  droning  quinte  come  flying,  plainly 
audible,  towards  us,  and  then  these  sounds  would 
immediately  and  pleasantly  disturb  the  melancholy 
character  of  the  wilderness,  subsequently  falling 
into  a  monotonous  melody  persisting  with  intolerable 
fidelity  always  on  one  and  the  same  motifs  which 
I  involuntarily  imagined  to  myself  as  I  listened  to 
them.  One  of  my  feet  presently  began  to  grow 
numb,  and  when  I  turned  about  a  bit  in  order 
the  better  to  shelter  it,  the  snow  which  had  accu- 
mulated on  my  collar  and  hat  plunged  down  my 
neck  and  made  me  shiver  ;  but,  on  the  whole,  I  was 
still  warm  enough  in  my  well-warmed  furs,  and  a 
feeling  of  drowsiness  came  over  me. 


VI. 


Recollections  and  ideas  alternated  with  the  most 
strenuous  rapidity  in  my  imagination. 

65  E 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

The  counsellor  also  kept  on  bawling  out  of  the 
second  sledge — I  wondered  what  sort  of  a  yokel  he 
might  be.  No  doubt  a  rufus,  well  set  up,  with  short 
legs,  I  thought  to  myself,  something  in  the  style  of 
Theodor  Filipovich,  our  old  waiter.  And  then  I  saw 
before  me  the  staircase  of  our  big  house,  and  four 
of  the  men-servants  in  linen  suits,  walking  heavily  and 
dragging  the  pianoforte  out  of  one  of  the  wings. 
Theodor  Filipovich,  with  the  sleeves  of  his  nankeen 
surtout  turned  up,  and  carrying  a  pedal,  w^as  running 
on  in  front,  unloosening  the  bars  and  bolts,  and 
there  he  stood,  tugging  away  at  a  napkin,  bustling 
about,  insinuating  himself  between  their  legs  and 
making  a  mess  of  everything,  never  ceasing  all  the 
time  to  screech  with  a  funny  voice  : 

"  This  way,  this  way,  you  fellows  in  front !  Like 
this,  tail  up,  up,  up,  up,  I  say,  carry  it  through  the 
door  !     Like  this  !  " 

"  We  can  manage  it ;  leave  us  alone,  Theodor 
Filipovich  ! "  timidly  observed  the  gardener,  clinging 
to  the  balustrade,  all  red  with  the  exertion  and 
supporting  one  corner  of  the  grand-piano  with  all  his 
remaining  strength. 

But  Theodor  Filipovich  would  not  be  quiet. 
"  What  an  idea  ? "  I  thought  as  I  deliberated 
about  it.  Does  he  fancy  he  is  useful,  indispensable, 
or  is  he  simply  glad  because  God  has  given  him  the 
self-confident,  convincing  eloquence  which  he  dispenses 
with  such  sweet  satisfaction  ?  It  must  be  so."  And 
then  I  saw  somewhere  or  other  a  pond,  a  lot  of  tired 
men-servants  up  to  their  knees  in  water  dragging  a 
fishing-net,  and  there  again  was  Theodor  Filipovich 

66 


The  Snowstopm 

with   a  watering-can,    running    along  the   bank  and 
shouting  at  them,  but  only  very  rarely  approaching 
the  water's  edge  in  order  to  touch  with  his  hands  some 
golden  carp  and  pour  away  the  dirty  water  and  fill 
his  can  with  fresh.     And  then  it  was  midday  in  the 
month    of    July.     I    was  walking   along  somewhere, 
over  some  quite  newly  mown  garden  grass,  beneath 
the  burning,  perpendicular  rays  of  the   sun;  I    was 
still   very   young  ;    there   was   something    I    lacked, 
something  I  very  much  wanted.     I  was  going  to  a 
pond,   to   my  favourite  spot,  between  beds  of  wild 
eglantine  and  an  avenue  of  birch  trees,  and    I   lay 
down  to  sleep.     I  remember  the  feeling  with  which 
I  lay  down  :  I    looked  through  the   pretty,   prickly 
branches  of  the  eglantine  at  the  black,  dry  hummocks 
of  earth   and  at  the  translucent,  bright-blue  mirror 
of    the     pond.       It     was    a     sort      of    feeling     of 
naiVe  self-satisfaction  and  melancholy.       Everything 
around  me  was   so   exceedingly  beautiful,  and  this 
beauty  had  such   a  strong  effect   upon   me  that  it 
seemed  to  me  as  if  I   also  were  good,  and  the  only 
vexatious  thing  was  that  nobody   admired    me.     It 
was  hot ;  I  tried  to  sleep  in  order  to  get  some  rest,  but 
the  flies,  the  intolerable  flies,  gave  me  no  respite  even 
here,  and   they   began    to   collect    around   me,    and 
doggedly,  thickly,  like  so  many  little  pebbles,  they 
darted  about   from   my   temples  to  my  arms.     The 
bees  were  humming  not  far  from  me,  in  the  sun-burnt 
patches  of  the  grass,  and  yellow-winged  butterflies,  as 
if  wearied  by  the  sultriness,  were  flitting  from  blade 
to  blade  of  grass.     I  looked  up  :  it  pained  my  eyes — 
the  sun  shone  too  strongly  through  the  bright  leaves 

67 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

of  the  thick-foliaged  birch  tree  loftily,  but  very  gently, 
rocking  its  branches  above  my  head,  and  it  seemed 
hotter  than  ever.  I  covered  my  face  with  a  pocket 
handkerchief.  I  felt  oppressed,  and  the  flies  regularly 
stuck  to  my  arms,  on  which  a  light  sweat  burst  forth. 
The  sparrows  were  busy  in  the  dog-rose  hedges.  One 
of  them  hopped  along  the  ground  a  few  yards  from 
me,  pretended  once  or  twice  to  be  pecking  the  ground 
energetically,  and  making  the  tiny  twigs  crackle 
beneath  his  feet  and  chirping  merrily,  flew  out  of  the 
bosque ;  another  sparrow  also  perched  upon  the 
ground,  trimmed  his  tail,  glanced  around  him,  and 
then,  like  a  dart,  flew  chirping  after  the  first  sparrow. 
The  blows  of  the  mangling  stick  on  the  wet  linen 
were  audible  from  the  pond,  and  the  sound  of  these 
blows  was  borne  downwards  and  carried  along  the 
surface  of  the  pond.  Audible  also  were  the  laughter, 
talking,  and  splashing  of  the  bathers.  The  breeze 
shook  noisily  the  summits  of  those  birches  that  were 
further  from  me ;  nearer  at  hand  I  heard  it  begin 
to  flutter  the  grass,  and  now  the  leaves  of  the 
dog-rose  bosque  fell  a-quivering  and  rustled  upon 
their  branches,  and  now,  raising  the  corner  of  the 
handkerchief  and  tickling  my  perspiring  face,  the 
fresh  current  of  air  careered  right  up  to  me.  Through 
the  opening  made  by  the  lifted  'kerchief  flew  a  fly 
and  buzzed  terror-stricken  round  my  moist  mouth. 
An  odd  piece  of  dried  twig  insinuated  itself  under  my 
back.  No,  lying  down  was  impossible.  Suppose  I 
went  and  had  a  refreshing  bath.  But  at  that  very 
moment  I  hear  quite  close  to  the  bosque  hastening 
footsteps  and  a  terrified  female  voice  saying  : 

68 


The  Snowstorm 

"  Alas  Batyushka  !  What  is  to  be  done  ?  There's 
not  a  man  in  sight ! " 

"  What  is  it  ?  what  is  it  ?  "  I  ask,  running  out  into 
the  sun  to  the  maid-servant  who  ran  past  me  crying 
and  wailing.  She  only  looked  round  at  me,  waved 
her  hands  and  ran  on  further.  And  now  there 
appears  old  Martha,  who  is  seventy  years  of  age, 
holding  a  handkerchief  in  her  hand  which  she  had 
torn  from  her  head,  bounding  along  and  dragging  one 
leg  after  her  in  a  woollen  stocking  and  hastening  to 
the  pond.  Two  little  girls  were  also  running,  holding 
each  other  by  the  hand,  and  a  boy  of  ten,  in  his 
father's  surtout,  holding  on  to  the  skirt  of  one  of 
them,  hastened  on  behind. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  I  asked  them. 

"  A  muzhik  has  been  drowned." 

''Where?" 

"  In  the  pond." 

"  One  of  our  people,  eh  ?  " 

"  No,  a  vagabond." 

Ivan,  the  coachman,  shuffling  with  his  big  slippers 
over  the  mown  grass,  and  the  fat  messenger  Yakov, 
breathing  with  difficulty,  were  also  running  to  the 
pool,  and  I  ran  after  them. 

I  remember  the  feeling  within  me,  which  said  to 
me  :  "  Go  ahead  !  throw  yourself  into  the  pond  and 
drag  out  the  muzhik ;  save  him  and  they'll  all 
admire  you  so,"  which  was  what  I  desired  above  all. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  where  is  he  ?  "  I  inquired  of  the 
crowd  of  house-servants  collected  round  the  shores 
of  the  pond. 

"  There  he  is,  right  at  the  bottom,  over  yonder,  near 

69 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

to  the  bathing-place,"  said  a  washerwoman,  placing 
her  wet  linen  on  a  drying  pole.  "  I  saw  him  go  under, 
and  then  he  appeared  somewhere  else,  and  then  he 
disappeared,  and  then  he  came  up  again  once  more  ; 
and  how  he  shrieked,  *  I'm  sinking,  Batyushka  ! '  and 
down  below  he  went  again,  and  only  bubbles  came 
up  after  him  ;  and  as  soon  as  I  saw  that  a  muzhik  was 
drowning  I  cried  out,  *  Batyushka,  there's  a  muzhik 
drowning ! '" 

And  the  washerwoman,  throwing  the  yoke-beam 
over  her  shoulder,  waddled  along  the  narrow  path 
away  from  the  pond. 

*'  It  is  a  sin  and  a  shame  !  "  said  Yakov  Ivanov,  the 
steward,  with  a  despairing  voice  ;  "  what  a  to-do  the 
County  Court  will  make  about  it !  There  will  be  no 
end  to  it  !  " 

At  last  a  muzhik,  with  a  scythe  in  his  hand,  forced 
his  way  through  the  crowd  of  women,  children  and 
old  men,  elbowing  each  other  on  the  shore,  and 
hanging  his  scythe  on  the  branch  of  a  cytisus,  very 
deliberately  began  to  pull  off  his  boots. 

"  Where  was  it  ?  Where  was  he  drowned  ?  "  I  kept 
on  asking,  v/ishing  to  pitch  myself  in  there  and  do 
something  or  other  out  of  the  way. 

But  they  only  pointed  out  to  me  the  smooth  surface 
of  the  pond,  which  was  rarely  ruffled  by  a  passing 
breeze.  It  was  incomprehensible  to  me  how  he  could 
have  got  drowned  ;  the  water,  as  smooth,  beautiful, 
and  indifferent  as  ever,  stood  above  him,  glistening 
like  gold  in  the  midday  sun,  and  it  seemed  to  me  as  if 
I  could  do  nothing  and  astonish  nobody,  especially 
as    I    swam   but   awkwardly ;   but  the  muzhik    had 

70 


The  Snowstorm 

already  drawn  his  shirt  over  his  head  and  flung 
himself  into  the  water  straight  away.  They  all  kept 
looking  at  him  with  confidence  and  intense  expecta- 
tion ;  but  when  he  had  got  up  to  his  shoulders  in 
the  water  the  muzhik  deliberately  turned  back  again 
and  put  on  his  shirt :  he  did  not  know  how  to 
swim. 

People  came  running  together  ;  the  crowd  grew 
denser  and  denser ;  the  old  women  held  on  to  each 
other,  but  none  rendered  the  slightest  assistance. 
Those  who  had  only  just  arrived  at  once  began  to 
give  advice,  made  a  fuss,  and  their  faces  wore  an 
expression  of  fear  and  despair ;  of  those  who  had 
been  there  sometime  already,  some  becoming  tired  of 
standing,  sat  down  on  the  grass,  and  others  turned 
back  and  went  away.  Old  Matrena  inquired  of  her 
daughter  whether  she  had  closed  the  door  of  the 
stove  ;  the  little  boy  in  his  father's  surtout  violently 
flung  stones  into  the  water. 

But  now,  barking  loudly  and  looking  back  doubt- 
fully, Trezerka,  the  dog  of  Theodor  Filipovich,  came 
running  down  the  hill,  and  presently  the  form  of 
Theodor  himself,  also  running  down  the  hill  and 
bawling  something  or  other,  emerged  from  behind  the 
dog-rose  hedge. 

**  What's  up  ?  "  he  cried,  taking  off  his  surtout  as  he 
came  along,  "A  man  drowned  and  all  of  you 
stand  gaping  here  !     Give  me  a  rope  1 " 

They  all  gazed  upon  Theodor  Filipovich  with  hope 
and  terror,  while  he,  resting  one  hand  on  the  shoulder 
of  one  of  the  house-servants,  worked  off  the  boot  on 
his  right  leg  with  the  toe  of  his  left  foot. 

71 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

"  Over  yonder,  where  the  crowd  is,  on  the  right  side 
of  the  willow,  that's  the  spot,  Theodor  Filipovich,  just 
there,"  someone  said  to  him. 

"  I  know,"  he  answered,  and  frowning,  no  doubt  in 
response  to  the  indications  of  shamefacedness  visible 
in  the  mob  of  women,  he  took  off  his  shirt  and  little 
cross,  which  latter  he  gave  to  the  gardener's  little 
boy,  who  stood  before  him  in  a  cringing  attitude,  and 
energetically  strutting  over  the  mown  grass,  drew 
near  to  the  pond. 

Trezerka,  who,  in  doubt  as  to  the  meaning  of  the 
rapid  movements  of  his  master,  had  stopped  close  to 
the  crowd  and,  sitting  down  on  the  bank,  snapped  off 
several  blades  of  grass,  now  looked  inquiringly  at 
him,  and  suddenly,  with  a  joyful  yelp,  plunged  into 
the  water  with  his  master.  During  the  first  moment 
nothing  was  visible  except  foam  and  water  drops, 
which  flew  right  over  to  where  we  stood ;  but 
presently  Theodor  Filipovich,  gracefully  waving  his 
arms  and  rhythmically  raising  and  lowering  his  back, 
was  seen  swimming  briskly  towards  the  shore. 
Trezerka  too,  snorting  and  choking,  was  also  coming 
rapidly  back,  shaking  himself  in  the  midst  of  the 
crowd  and  rolling  on  his  back  on  the  shore  to  dry 
himself.  At  the  selfsame  moment  when  Theodor 
Filipovich  swam  up  to  the  shore  two  coachmen  came 
running  up  to  the  willow  with  a  net  wound  round 
a  pole.  Theodor  Filipovich,  for  some  reason  or 
other,  lifted  up  his  hands,  sneezed  once,  twice, 
thrice,  each  time  spurting  a  jet  of  water  out  of  his 
mouth,  shaking  his  hair  neatly  and  making  no 
answer  to  the  questions  which  showered  down  upon 

72 


The  Snowstopm 

him  from  all  sides.  At  last  he  emerged  oil  to  the 
bank  and,  as  far  as  I  could  make  out,  he  was 
occupying  himself  solely  with  the  proper  adjustment 
of  the  net.  They  drew  out  the  net,  but  at  the  bottom 
of  it  there  was  nothing  but  mud  and  a  few  little  carp 
swimming  about  in  it.  Just  as  the  net  was  being 
dragged  in  a  second  time  I  arrived  on  that  side  of 
the  pond. 

The  only  sounds  audible  were  the  voice  of  Theodor 
Filipovich  distributing  commands,  the  splashing  in 
the  water  of  the  net-rope,  and  groans  of  horror. 

"  Now,  then,  put  some  heart  into  it  and  pull 
all  together !  "  cried  the  voice  of  Theodor  Filipovich. 

''There's  something  this  time!  it  drags  heavily, 
my  brethren  !  "  cried  a  voice. 

But  now  the  net,  in  which  two  or  three  carp  were 
floundering,  all  wet,  and  crushing  the  grass  beneath 
it,  was  dragged  ashore.  And  then  dimly  seen  through 
the  thin  agitated  layer  of  turbid  water,  something 
white  was  apparent  in  the  extended  net.  A  groan 
of  horror,  not  loud  but  penetratingly  audible  in  the 
death-like  silence,  ran  through  the  crowd. 

"  Put  a  little  more  heart  into  it ;  drag  it  on  to  the 
dry  ground ! "  sounded  the  authoritative  voice  of 
Theodor  Filipovich  ;  and  the  doomed  man  was 
dragged  by  main  force  over  the  cropped  stalks  of  the 
burdocks  and  thistles  right  up  to  the  willow  tree. 

And  now  I  see  before  me  my  dear  old  aunt  in  her 
white  dress  ;  I  see  her  fringed  lilac  sunshade  so  utterly 
out  of  place  in  this  picture  of  death  so  horrible  from 
its  very  simplicity,  and  I  see  her  face  ready  at  that 
very   instant  to   burst  into   tears.     I  remember  the 

71 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

expression  of  disenchantment  in  her  face  at  the  idea 
that  these  drag-nets  were  altogether  useless,  and  I 
remember  the  sick,  sorrowing  feeling  I  experienced 
when  she  said  to  me  with  the  nai've  egoism  of  love  : 
"Let  us  go,  my  friend!  Ah!  how  horrible  it  is ! 
And  you  to  go  and  bathe  and  swim  all  alone  as  you 
do,  too ! " 

I  remember  how  bright  and  sultry  the  sun  was  ; 
how  it  burnt  up  the  dry,  crumbling  earth  beneath  our 
feet ;  how  it  played  on  the  surface  of  the  pond  ;  how 
gigantic  carp  were  hurrying  and  scurrying  near  the 
banks  ;  how  the  smoothness  of  the  centre  of  the  pond 
was  disturbed  by  shoais  of  fishes  ;  how  high  in  the 
sky  a  vulture  was  wheeling  right  above  some  ducks, 
who,  quacking  and  splashing,  were  making  for  the 
middle  of  the  pond  through  the  reeds  ;  how 
threatening,  white,  curly  clouds  were  collecting  on 
the  horizon  ;  how  the  mud,  dragged  ashore  by  the 
net,  was  gradually  being  trampled  into  the  ground  ; 
and  how,  walking  along  the  dyke,  I  again  heard  the 
stroke  of  a  paddle  resounding  over  the  pond. 

But  this  paddle  was  now  ringing  just  as  if  the 
sound  of  the  paddles  Vv'as  blending  together  into  a 
tierce  ;  and  this  sound  tormented  and  wearied  me 
all  the  more  because  I  knew  that  this  paddle  was 
a  bell  and  Theodor  Filipovich  could  not  make  it 
keep  quiet.  And  this  paddle,  like  an  instrument  of 
torture,  was  pressing  my  leg,  which  was  freezing,  and 
I  awoke. 

It  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  had  been  awakened  by  a 
sudden  jolt  and  by  two  voices  speaking  close  beside 
me. 

74 


The  Snowstorm 

**  Hillo  !  Ignat !  Ignat,  I  say !  "  cried  the  voice  of 
my  driver,  "  take  a  passenger  !  It's  all  one  to  you, 
and  it's  no  use  my  trying  to  keep  up.  Take  one, 
I  say ! " 

The  voice  of  Ignat  answered  close  beside  me  : 

"  Why  should  I  be  responsible  for  a  passenger  ? 
You've  got  half  a  stoop  yet,  haven't  you  ?  " 

"  Half  a  stoop,  indeed  !  There's  a  quarter  of  a 
stoop,  already !  " 

"  A  quarter  of  a  stoop  !  What  an  idea  !  "  screeched 
the  other  voice.  "  Fancy  plaguing  a  horse  for  the 
sake  of  a  quarter  of  a  stoop  !  " 

I  opened  my  eyes.  Always  the  same  unendur- 
able, quivering  snow  blizzard  in  one's  eyes,  and  the 
selfsame  drivers  and  horses,  but  close  beside  me  I 
saw  a  sledge.  My  driver  had  caught  up  Ignat,  and 
we  had  been  going  on  side  by  side  for  some  time. 
Notwithstanding  that  the  voice  from  the  other 
sledges  had  advised  my  driver  not  to  take  in  less 
weight  than  a  half  stoop,  Ignat  had  suddenly  stopped 
the  U'oika. 

"  Let  us  change  about  then  !  A  good  job  for  you  ! 
Put  in  a  quarter  stoop,  as  we  shall  arrive  to-morrow. 
How  much  do  you  make  it,  eh  ?  " 

My  driver,  with  unusual  vivacity,  leaped  out  into 
the  snow,  bowed  down  before  me,  and  begged  me  to 
transfer  myself  to  Ignat.  I  was  quite  willing  to  do 
so,  but/it  was  clear  that  the  God-fearing  little  muzhik 
was  so  satisfied  with  the  new  arrangement  that  he 
must  needs  pour  forth  his  joy  and  gratitude  on  some 
one  or  other  ;  he  bowed  down  before  me  and  thanked 
me  and  Alec  and  Ignashka. 

75 


tVlore  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

"  Well,  there  you  are  now,  thank  God.  And  I  tell 
you  what  it  is,  my  little  master,  we  have  been 
wandering  about  half  the  night,  without  knowing 
whither.  That  chap  there  will  bring  us  in  all  right, 
my  little  master,  and  my  horses  are  done  up 
already." 

And  he  transferred  my  things  with  energetic 
officiousness. 

While  they  were  transferring  the  things  I,  following 
the  direction  of  the  wind,  which  carried  me  along,  as 
it  were,  went  to  the  second  sledge.  The  sledge, 
especially  on  that  side  on  which  the  armyak  was 
hung  up  over  the  heads  of  the  two  drivers,  was  a 
quarter  covered  with  snow,  but  behind  the  armyak  it 
was  quiet  and  comfortable.  The  little  old  man  was 
lying  there  with  his  legs  stretched  wide  apart,  and 
the  tale-teller  was  going  on  with  his  tale  :  "  At  the 
very  time  when  the  general,  in  the  King's  name,  you 
know,  came,  you  know,  to  Mary  in  the  dungeon,  at 
that  very  time  Mary  said  to  him  :  General,  I  have  no 
need  of  you  and  I  cannot  love  you  and,  you  know, 
you  cannot  be  my  lover,  but  my  lover  is  the  Prince 
himself. 

"At  that  very  time,"  he  was  going  on,  but 
perceiving  me,  he  was  silent  for  a  moment  and  began 
to  puff  away  at  his  pipe. 

"  What,  sir,  come  to  listen  to  the  tale  too  .-* "  said 
the  other,  whom  I  have  called  the  Counsellor. 

"  You  are  having  a  rare  fine  time  of  it,"  said  I.  "It 
passes  the  time  anyhow  and  prevents  one  from 
brooding." 

"  But  tell  me,  do  you  know  where  we  are  now  ?  " 

76 


The  Snowstorm 

This  question  did  not  appear  to  please  the  drivers. 

**  Where  ?  Who  can  make  that  out  ?  We  may 
be  going  right  away  to  the  Calmucks,"  answered  the 
Counsellor. 

"  But  what  shall  we  do  then  ? " 

"  Do  ?  We  must  go  on,  and  perhaps  we  shall  get 
through,"  said  he  surlily. 

"  And  what  if  we  don't  get  through,  and  the  horses 
stop  in  the  snow  ?     What  then  ?  " 

"  What  then  ?     Why,  nothing." 

"  We  might  be  frozen." 

"  It's  possible,  certainly,  for  we  cannot  see  any 
ricks,  which  means  that  we're  going  right  into  the 
Calmuck  country.  The  first  thing  to  do  is  to  look 
at  the  snow." 

**  And  aren't  you  at  all  afraid  of  being  frozen  ? " 
asked  the  old  man,  with  a  tremulous  voice. 

Notwithstanding  that  he  was  making  merry  with 
me,  it  was  plain  that  he  was  all  of  a  tremble  to  the 
very  last  bone. 

"  Well,  it's  pretty  cold,"  I  said. 

"  Alas,  for  you,  sir  !  If  you  were  only  like  me  ;  no, 
no,  run  along,  that  will  make  you  warm." 

"  First  of  all,  we  ought  to  show  him  how  to  run 
after  the  sledge,"  said  the  Counsellor. 

VII. 

"  Ready  if  you  please,"  bawled  Alec  to  me  from 
the  sledge  in  front. 

The  snowstorm  was  so  violent  that  only  with  the 
utmost  exertion,  bending  right  forward  and  grasping 

77 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

with  both  hands  the  folds  of  my  mantle,  was  I  able  to 
traverse  the  few  yards  which  separated  me  from  the 
sledge,  through  the  shifting  snow,  which  the  wind 
carried  away  from  under  my  very  feet.  My  former 
driver  was  already  on  his  knees  in  the  midst  of  the 
empty  sledge,  but  seeing  me,  he  took  off  his  large  hat, 
whereupon  the  wind  furiously  lifted  his  long  locks  on 
high,  and  he  began  asking  me  for  vodka.  He  evidently 
didn't  expect  to  get  it,  for  he  was  not  a  bit  offended 
at  my  refusal.  He  even  thanked  me,  put  on  his 
hat,  and  said  to  me :  "  Well,  God  be  with  you,  sir, 
and  seizing  the  reins  and  smacking  his  lips,  he 
departed  from  us  immediately  afterwards,  Ignashka 
meanwhile  waving  his  arms  with  all  his  might  and 
shouting  at  his  horses.  Again  the  crunching  of 
hoofs  and  the  jangling  of  the  little  sledge  bells 
superseded  the  whining  of  the  wind,  which  was 
particularly  audible  whenever  we  stopped  short. 

For  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after  the  transfer  I  did  not 
sleep,  and  amused  myself  by  studying  the  figures  of 
the  new  driver  and  the  horses.  Ignashka  had  all  the 
ways  of  a  young  man  ;  he  was  perpetually  springing 
up,  waving  his  arms,  with  his  whip  dangling  over  the 
horses,  shouting  at  them,  shifting  from  one  foot  to 
the  other,  bending  forward  from  time  to  time,  and 
readjusting  the  reins  of  the  thill  horse,  which  had  a 
tendency  perpetually  to  shift  to  the  right.  He  was 
not  big,  but  well  put  together  apparently.  Above 
his  short  pelisse  he  wore  an  ungirdled  arinyak,  the 
collar  of  which  was  almost  entirely  thrown  back, 
leaving  the  neck  quite  bare  ;  his  boots  were  not  of 
felt    but   of    leather,    and    his    hat,   which    he   was 

7^ 


The  Snowstorm 

incessantly  doffing  and  setting  right,  was  a  smallish  one. 
In  all  his  movements  was  observable  not  merely 
energy,  but,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  the  longing  to  stimulate 
this  energy.  But  the  further  we  went  and  the  more 
frequentl}^  he  pulled  himself  together,  and  bounded 
on  to  the  box-seat  and  fidgeted  about  with  his  feet 
and  conversed  with  me  and  Alec,  the  more  it 
seemed  to  me  that  at  the  bottom  of  his  soul  he  was 
sore  afraid.  And  the  reason  was  this  :  his  horses 
were  good,  but  at  every  step  the  road  became  more 
and  more  difficult,  and  it  was  obvious  that  the 
horses  were  running  unwillingly ;  already  it  was 
necessary  to  whip  them  up  a  bit,  and  the  thill  horse,  a 
good,  big,  shaggy  beast,  had  stumbled  once  or  twice, 
although,  immediately  afterwards,  terror-stricken,  it 
tore  on  ahead  again,  bowing  its  shaggy  head  almost 
lower  than  the  very  sledge  bell.  The  right-hand-side 
horse,  which  I  watched  involuntarily,  together  with  the 
long  leather  cluster  of  the  reins,  jolting  and  plunging 
on  the  field-side,  was  visibly  breaking  away  from  the 
traces  and  required  a  touch  of  the  whip,  but,  as  is 
the  way  with  good  horses,  even  when  excited,  as  if 
sorry  for  his  weakness,  he  angrily  lowered  and  raised 
his  head,  again  readjusting  the  bridle.  It  was  really 
terrible  to  see  how  the  snowstorm  and  the  cold  were 
increasing  ;  how  the  horses  were  getting  weaker.  The 
road  was  become  worse  and  worse,  and  we 
absolutely  did  not  know  where  we  were  or  whither 
v/e  were  going.  We  were  no  longer  sure  of  reaching, 
I  will  not  say  a  posting  station,  but  even  a  place 
of  refuge  —  and  it  was  ridiculous  and  terrible  to 
hear    hovv    the    sledge-bell    kept     on  ^tinkling     so 

79 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

unconcernedly  and  merrily,  and  how  Ignashka  bois- 
terously and  bravely  shouted  at  the  horses  as  if  we 
were  rolling  away  to  church  on  a  hard-frozen,  sunny, 
rustic  road  at  midday  on  the  "  Feast  of  the 
Epiphany,"  and  especially  terrible  it  was  to  think 
that  we  were  driving  continually  and  driving  rapidly 
nobody  knew  whither,  right  away  from  the  place 
where  we  were.  Ignashka  began  to  sing  some  song 
or  other,  in  a  villainous  falsetto  indeed,  but  so 
sonorously  and  with  such  long  pauses,  during  which 
he  fell  a-whistling,  that  it  was  strange  to  feel  timid 
while  you  listened  to  him. 

"  Hie,  hie !  What  a  throat  you've  got,  Ignat ! " 
sounded  the  voice  of  the  Counsellor;  "do  stop  for  a 
bit." 

"What?" 

"  Sto-o-o-op ! " 

Ignat  stopped.  Again  all  was  silent,  and  the  wind 
howled  and  whined,  and  the  whirling  snow  began  to 
fall  more  thickly  into  the  sledge.  The  Counsellor 
came  to  us. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  What,  indeed  !     Whither  are  we  going  ?  " 

"  Who  knows  !  " 

"  Our  feet  are  frozen,  eh !  why  are  you  clapping 
your  hands  ?  " 

"  We  are  quite  benumbed." 

"And  as  for  you,"  this  to  Ignat,  "just  turn  out  and 
stir  your  stumps  and  see  if  there  isn't  a  Calmuck 
encampment  about  here  :  it  will  warm  up  your  feet  a 
bit !  " 

"  All  right !  hold  the  horses.     Now  for  it." 

80 


The  Snowstorm 

And  Ignat  ran  off  in  the  direction  indicated. 

"  One  always  ought  to  look  out  and  pick  one's  way, 
you'll  find  it's  all  right ;  and,  besides,  there's  such  a 
thing  as  foolish  driving,"  said  the  Counsellor  to  me. 
"  Just  see  how  the  horses  are  steaming." 

All  this  time  Ignat  was  gone,  aitd  this  lasted  so 
long  that  I  was  beginning  to  be  afraid  that  he  would 
lose  himself  altogether.  The  Counsellor,  in  the 
calmest,  most  self-confident  tone  of  voice,  explained  to 
me  how  people  ought  to  act  in  a  snowstorm  ;  he  said 
that  the  best  thing  of  all  was  to  outspan  the  horse 
and  let  her  go  right  on,  God  only  knows  where,  or 
sometimes  it  was  possible  to  see  and  go  by  the  stars, 
and  he  added  that  if  he  had  gone  on  before  as  a 
pioneer,  we  should  long  ago  have  reached  the  station. 

"  Well,  how  is  it  ?  "  he  asked  Ignat,  who  could  now 
be  seen  returning,  walking  with  the  utmost  difficulty, 
being  up  to  his  knees  in  snow. 

"  Yes,  it's  there  right  enough.  I  can  make  out  a 
Calmuck  encampment,"  answered  Ignat,  puffing  and 
blowing,  "  but  which  it  is  I  don't  know.  We  ought, 
my  brother,  to  be  going  straight  towards  the 
Prolgovsky  Manor  House.  We  ought  to  go  more  to 
the  left." 

'*  But    why     this    delay  ?        It    must     be     those 
encampments   of  ours   which  are  behind   the  post- 
station  !  "  exclaimed  the  Counsellor. 
.     "  But  I  say  it  is  not  ! " 

"  What  I've  seen  I  know  :  it'll  be  what  I  say  and 
not  the  Tomushenko  lot.  We  must  keep  going  more 
to  the  right  all  along.  We  shall  be  out  on  the  great 
bridge  presently  ;  it  is  only  eight  versts  off." 

8i  F 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

"  But  I  say  it  is  not.  I  tell  you  I've  just  seen  it," 
answered  Igiiat  angrily. 

"  Ah,  my  brother,  and  you  a  driver  too  ! " 

"  Driver  be  hanged  !     Go  yourself! " 

"  Why  should  I  go  when  I  know  already  ?  " 

It  was  plain  that  Ignat  was  very  angry.  Without 
answering,  he  leaped  upon  the  box-seat  and  drove  on 
further. 

"  You  see  how  your  feet  grow  numb  if  you  don't 
warm  them  a  bit,"  he  said  to  Alec,  continuing  to 
hug  his  arms  more  and  more  frequently  and  wipe 
and  shake  off  the  snow  which  kept  pouring  into  the 
leg  of  his  boot. 

I  had  a  frightful  desire  to  go  to  sleep. 

VIII. 

"  Can  it  be  possible  that  I  am  already  freezing  to 
death  ? "  I  thought  in  the  midst  of  my  slumbers. 
Freezing  to  death  always  begins  during  slumber, 
they  say .  Why,  it  would  be  better  to  be  drowned 
than  to  freeze  and  let  myself  be  drawn  out  in  a  net, 
yet  'tis  all  one  whether  I  drown  or  freeze  if  only 
this  stick — it  seems  to  be  a  stick — were  not  beating 
against  my  back  and  I  could  lose  consciousness. 

And  for  a  second  or  so  I  did  lose  consciousness. 

"Yet,  how  will  all  this  end?"  I  suddenly  said 
within  my  mind,  opening  my  eyes  for  a  moment  and 
glancing  at  the  white  expanse  ;  "  how  will  all  this  end 
if  we  do  not  find  the  ricks  and  the  horses  stop,  which 
will  happen  pretty  soon  }  We  shall  all  be  frozen." 
I  confess  that  although  a  little  afraid,  the  wish  that 

82 


The  Snowstorm 

something  extraordinary,  something  tragical,  might 
happen  to  us  was  stronger  within  me  than  my  tiny 
bit  of  fear.  It  seemed  to  me  that  it  would  not  be 
half  bad  if,  by  the  morning,  the  horses  were  to  drag 
us  into  some  distant,  unknown  village  half  frozen  ; 
or,  better  still,  some  of  us  perhaps  might  be  frozen 
to  death  outright.  And  in  this  mood  a  vision  pre- 
sented itself  before  me,  with  extraordinary  rapidity 
and  vividness.  Thq  horses  stopped ;  the  snow 
heaps  grew  bigger,  and  bigger,  and  now  only  the 
shaft-bow  and  the  ears  of  the  horses  were  visible  ; 
but  suddenly  Ignashka  appeared  on  the  surface  with 
his  troika  and  drove  past  us.  We  implored  him  with 
shrieks  and  yells  to  take  us,  but  our  cries  were 
carried  away  by  the  wind,  and  there  were  no 
voices  at  all.  Ignashka  smoked  slightly  ;  shouted  at 
his  horses ;  whistled  a  bit,  and  vanished  from  our 
eyes  into  some  deep  abyss  of  drifted  snow.  Then 
the  little  old  man  leaped  to  the  surface  and  began 
waving  his  arms,  and  wanted  to  spring  off,  but  could 
not  move  from  the  spot ;  my  old  driver,  with  the 
large  hat,  flung  himself  upon  him,  dragged  him  to 
the  ground,  and  trampled  him  in  the  snow.  ''  You 
old  sorcerer,"  he  shrieked,  "  you  curser ;  we'll  sink  or 
swim  together."  But  the  little  old  man  burrowed  in 
the  snow  drift  with  his  head  ;  he  was  not  so  much  a 
little  old  man  as  a  hare,  and  he  slipped  away  from  us. 
All  the  dogs  came  leaping  after  him.  The 
counsellor,  who  was  Theodor  Filipovich,  said  that  we 
should  all  sit  round  in  a  circle,  and  that  it  didn't 
matter  a  bit  if  the  snow  covered  us,  it  would  make  us 
warm.     And,    indeed,    we    were    very    warm    and 

83 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

comfortable,  only  we  wanted  something  to  drink.  I 
got  a  case  bottle,  served  out  rum  and  sugar  to  them 
all,  and  drank  myself  with  great  satisfaction.  The 
tale-teller  was  telling  some  tale  about  the  rainbow — 
and  above  us,  indeed,  was  a  ceiling  of  snow  and 
rainbow.  "  And  now  let  each  of  us  take  his 
apartment  in  the  snow  and  go  to  sleep,"  said  I.  The 
snow  was  warm  and  soft  like  fur.  I  made  a  room  for 
myself,  and  was  about  to  go  into  it,  but  Theodor 
Filipovich,  who  saw  some  money  in  my  case  bottle, 
said  :  *'  Stop,  give  me  the  money  ;  it's  all  one  if  we 
die ! "  and  caught  me  by  the  leg.  I  gave  him  the 
money,  merely  asking  them  to  let  me  out ;  but 
they  would  not  believe  it  was  all  the  money  I  had, 
and  wanted  to  kill  me.  I  caught  the  arm  of  the 
old  man  and,  with  unspeakable  delight,  began  to  kiss 
it.  The  arm  of  the  little  old  man  was  fresh  and 
smooth.  At  first  he  tore  it  away  from  me,  but 
afterwards  he  let  me  have  it,  and  even  began 
caressing  me  with  the  other  arm.  But  Theodor 
Filipovich  drew  near  and  threatened  me.  I  ran  into 
my  room,  but  it  was  not  a  room,  but  a  long  white 
corridor,  and  something  held  me  by  the  leg.  I  tore 
myself  awa}^,  but  in  the  hands  of  him  who  held  me 
remained  my  clothing  and  part  of  my  skin  ;  but  I 
only  felt  cold  and  bashful,  and  all  the  more  bashful 
because  my  aunt,  with  her  sunshade,  and  with  her 
homoeopathic  pharmacopoeia  under  her  arm,  was 
coming  towards  me  with  the  drowned  man.  They 
were  laughing,  and  did  not  understand  the  signs  I  was 
making  to  them.  I  threw  myself  into  the  sledge, 
and  my  feet  were  dragging  along  the  snow  ;  but  the 

84 


The  Snowstorm 

little  old  man  pursued  me,  waving  his  arms.  The 
little  old  man  was  already  close  to  me  when  I  heard 
two  little  bells,  and  knew  that  I  was  safe  if  I  could 
get  to  them.  The  little  bells  sounded  more  and 
more  violently,  but  the  little  old  man  caught  me  up, 
and  fell  like  a  beast  on  my  face,  so  that  the  bells 
were  scarce  audible.  I  again  seized  his  arm  and 
began  to  kiss  it,  but  the  little  old  man  was  not  the 
little,  old  man,  but  the  man  who  had  been  drowned, 
and  he  cried  out :  "  Stop,  Ignashka,  these  are  the 
Akhmetkin  ricks,  I  think  ;  go  and  see ! " 

This  was  too  terrible  ;  far  better  to  wake  up  !  I 
opened  my  eyes.  The  wind  had  flapped  my  face 
with  the  corner  of  Alec's  mantle  ;  my  knee  was 
uncovered  ;  we  were  going  over  a  bare,  frozen  crest 
of  snow,  and  the  tierce  of  the  little  bells  was  very 
faintly  audible  in  the  air,  along  with  the  jangling 
quinte. 

I  looked  to  see  where  the  rick  was,  but  instead  of 
the  ricks,  I  saw  with  my  wide-open  eyes  a  house 
with  a  balcony  and  the  crenelated  wall  of  a  fortress. 
It  interested  me  very  little  to  look  at  this  house  and 
fortress  ;  my  chief  desire  was  to  see  again  the  white 
corridor  along  which  I  had  run  to  hear  the  sound  of 
the  church  bell,  and  to  kiss  the  hand  of  the  old  man. 
I  again  closed  my  eyes  and  went  to  sleep. 


IX. 


I  slept  deeply  ;  but  the  tierce  of  the  bell  was 
audible  the  whole  time,  and  there  appeared  to  me  in 
my  dreams,  sometimes  in  the  shape  of  a  dog,  which 

8s 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

barked  and  fell  upon  me ;  and  sometimes  as  an 
organ,  in  which  I  was  one  of  the  pipes  ;  sometimes 
the  shape  of  French  verses  which  I  was  composing. 
Sometimes  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  this  tierce  was  some 
instrument  of  torture  continually  squeezing  my 
right  heel.  This  was  so  violent  that  I  woke, 
and  opened  my  eyes,  rubbing  my  foot.  It  was 
beginning  to  be  frost-bitten.  The  night  was  just  the 
same  as  before — bright.  The  selfsame  sort  of 
movement  was  jolting  me  and  the  sledge ;  the 
selfsame  Ignashka  was  sitting  on  the  box-seat  and 
shuffling  about  with  his  feet ;  the  selfsame  side  horse, 
distending  its  neck  and  scarce  lifting  its  feet,  was 
trotting  along  over  the  deep  snow  ;  the  little  tassel  of 
the  harness  was  jumping  up  and  down,  and  lashing 
the  belly  of  the  horse.  The  head  of  the  thill  horse, 
with  dishevelled  mane,  the  distended  and  loosening 
harness  attached  to  the  shaft-bow,  was  gently  rocking 
up  and  down.  But  all  this,  far  more  than  before,  was 
covered,  was  loaded  with  snow.  The  snow  came 
whirling  down  from  in  front,  and  sideways,  was 
beginning  to  cover  up  the  sledge-boards ;  the  legs  of 
the  horses  were  up  to  their  knees  in  snow,  and  the 
snow  was  pouring  down  from  above  upon  our  collars 
and  hats.  The  wind  was  now  from  the  right,  and 
now  from  the  left,  and  played  with  our  collars,  with 
the  flap  of  Ignashka's  armyak,  and  with  the  mane  of 
the  thill  horse,  and  howled  above  the  shaft-bow  and 
in  the  shafts. 

It  had  become  frightfully  cold  ;  and  scarcely  had  I 
wriggled  myself  free  of  my  collar,  than  the  frozen, 
dry   snow,    whirling   along,  fell    full    upon   my  eye- 

2>6 


The  Snowstorm 

lashes,  nose,  mouth,  and  flopped  down  my  neck.  All 
round  about  everything  was  white,  bright,  and  snowy ; 
there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  anywhere  but  turbid 
light  and  snow.  I  became  seriously  alarmed. 
Aleshka  was  asleep  at  my  feet  in  the  very  bottom  of 
the  sledge,  the  whole  of  his  back  was  covered  by  a 
thick  layer  of  snow.  Ignashka  I  did  not  see  ;  he  was 
tugging  at  the  reins,  shouting  to  the  horses,  and 
shuffling  with  his  feet  perpetually.  The  little  bell 
sounded  as  strangely  as  ever.  The  horses  kept 
snorting,  yet  on  they  ran,  stumbling  more  and  more 
frequently,  and  somewhat  more  softly.  Ignashka 
again  leaped  up,  waved  his  sleeves,  and  began 
singing  his  song  in  a  thin,  tense  voice.  Without 
finishing  it  he  stopped  the  troika^  threw  the  reins  on 
to  the  upper  part  of  the  sledge,  and  dismounted. 
The  wind  was  howling  furiously,  the  snow,  pouring 
down  as  if  from  a  sieve,  covered  the  skirt  of  his 
pelisse.  I  looked  around,  the  third  troika  was  no 
longer  behind  us,  it  had  stopped  somewhere.  Round 
the  second  troika^  which  was  visible  through  a 
snowy  mist,  I  could  see  how  the  little  old  man  was 
hopping  about  from  foot  to  foot.  Ignashka  took 
three  steps  away  from  the  sledge,  sat  down  in  the 
snow,  ungirded  himself,  and  set  about  taking  off  his 
shoes. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  I  asked. 

*'  I  must  change  my  boots,  my  feet  are  quite 
frozen,"  he  answered,  continuing  what  he  was  doing. 

It  had  made  me  cold  merely  to  wriggle  my  neck  free 
of  my  collar.  I  could  not  bear  to  look  on  and  see  him 
do  this.      I  sat  stiff  and  upright,  looking  at  the  side 

87 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

horse  which,  drawing  back  its  feet,  began  wearily,  like 
a  sick  thing,  twitching  its  tucked-up  tail  all  covered 
with  snow.  The  jolt  which  Ignat  had  given  to  the 
sledge,  when  he  leaped  upon  the  sledge-ledge,  had 
awakened  me. 

"I  say,  where  are  we  now.?"  I  asked;  ''shall  we 
ever  get  anywhere  ? " 

"  Be  easy,  we  shall  manage  it,"  he  answered  ;  "  the 
great  thing  is  to  keep  the  feet  warm.  That's  why 
I've  changed  my  boots." 

And  off  he  started.  The  little  bell  sounded,  the 
sledge  again  began  to  swing  along,  and  the  wind 
whistled  beneath  the  curved  sides  of  the  sledge. 
And  once  more  we  set  off  swimming  in  a  limitless  sea 
of  snow. 

X. 

I  slept  soundly.  When  Alec,  knocking  me 
with  his  foot,  awoke  me,  and  I  opened  my  eyes,  it 
was  already  morning.  It  appeared  to  me  to  be 
colder  than  in  the  night.  No  snow  was  coming 
down  from  above  ;  but  a  strong,  dry  wind  continued 
to  carry  the  snow-dust  across  the  plain  and  especially 
beneath  the  hoofs  of  the  horses  and  the  sledge- 
curves.  The  sky,  to  the  right,  in  the  east,  was 
heavy  and  of  a  dark  bluish  colour ;  but  bright, 
orange-red,  strips  were  becoming  more  and  more 
plainly  distinguishable  in  it.  Above  our  heads, 
from  behind  the  fugitive,  white,  faintly  tinted  clouds, 
a  pale  blue  was  revealing  itself;  to  the  left,  the  masses 
of  cloud  were  bright,  light,  and  mobile.      All  around, 

88 


The  Snowstorm 

as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  lay  white,  deep  snow, 
distributed  in  heaps  and  layers.  In  one  direction 
could  be  seen  a  greyish  heap,  over  which  a  fine,  dry, 
snowy  dust  was  doggedly  flying.  Not  a  single  trace 
of  a  sledge,  or  a  human  being,  or  an  animal  was 
anywhere  visible.  The  outlines  and  colours  of  the 
back  of  the  driver  and  the  horses  showed  out  clearly, 
and  even  sharply,  against  the  white  background. 
The  rim  of  Ignashka's  dark  blue  hat,  his  collar,  his 
hair,  and  even  his  boots  were  white.  The  sledges 
were  completely  covered.  The  whole  right  part  of 
the  head  of  the  dark  grey  thill  horse  and  his  forelock 
were  covered  with  snow ;  my  side  horse  was 
enwrapped  in  it  up  to  the  knees,  and  his  sweating 
body  was  all  plastered  with  snowy  festoons  on  the 
right  side.  The  tassel  was  still  bobbing  up  and  down 
as  before,  beating  time  to  some  unimaginable  motifs 
and  the  side  horse  was  running  along  just  as  before, 
only  she  had  sunk  lower  in  the  snow,  from  which  she 
raised  and  disengaged  her  body  from  time  to  time.  It 
was  plain  from  her  dejected  ears  what  she  must  be 
suffering.  Only  a  single  new  object  riveted  our 
attention,  and  this  was  a  verst  post,  from  which  the 
snow  was  being  strewn  on  the  ground,  around  which 
the  wind  had  piled  a  whole  hillock  of  snow  to  the 
right,  and  was  still  tearing  up  and  casting  the 
scattering  snow  from  one  side  to  the  other.  I  was 
amazed  that  we  had  been  driving  along  the  whole 
night  with  single  horses  for  twenty  hours,  not 
knowing  whither,  and  without  stopping,  and  yet  had 
managed  somehow  to  arrive.  Our  little  bell  was 
sounding  more  merrily   than    ever.     Ignat  wrapped 

89 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

himself  up  tighter,  and  kept  shouting  at  the  horses  ; 
behind  us  neighed  the  horses  and  jingled  the  bells  of 
the  troika  of  the  little  old  man  and  the  counsellor  ; 
but  the  sleeper  must  have  parted  from  us  in  the 
steppe.  After  going  along  for  another  half  verst  we 
came  upon  the  recent  track  of  a  sledge  and  troika, 
lightly  powdered  with  snow,  and,  at  rare  intervals, 
pink  patches  of  the  blood  of  a  horse  which,  as  we 
could  see,  had  been  cruelly  whipped. 

"  That  is  Philip.  It  is  plain  that  he  has  got  in 
before  us  ! "  said  Ignashka. 

But  there  stood  a  little  house  with  a  signboard 
alone  on  the  road,  in  the  midst  of  the  snow,  which 
reached  almost  up  to  the  roof  and  windows.  Near  the 
inn  stood  a  troika  of  three  grey  horses,  crisp  with 
sweat,  with  disengaged  feet  and  dejected  heads. 
Around  the  door  the  snow  had  been  cleared  away, 
and  there  stood  a  shovel,  but  from  the  roof  the 
howling  wind  was  still  sweeping  and  whirling  the 
snow. 

From  out  of  the  door,  at  the  sound  of  our  bells, 
emerged  a  big,  good-looking,  red-faced  driver  with  a 
glass  of  wine  in  his  hand,  shouting  something. 
Ignashka  turned  to  me  and  asked  permission  to 
stop.     Then  for  the  first  time  I  saw  his  face. 


XL 


His  face  was  not  darkish,  dry,  and  straight-nosed, 
as  I  had  expected,  judging  from  his  hair  and 
physique.  It  was  a  round,  merry,  absolutely  sun- 
burnt face,  with  a  large  mouth  and  brightly  shining, 

90 


The  Snowstorm 

round  blue  eyes.  His  cheeks  and  neck  were  as  red 
as  rubbed  rags  ;  his  eyebrows,  long  eye-lashes,  and 
the  hair  symmetrically  covering  the  lower  part  of  his 
face,  were  clotted  with  snow  and  quite  white.  It  was 
only  half  a  verst  to  the  station,  and  we  stopped. 

"  Only  be  as  quick  as  you  can,"  I  said. 

"  In  one  moment,"  answered  Ignashka,  and  leaping 
from  the  box-seat,  he  ran  to  Philip. 

"  Give  it  here,  my  brother,"  taking  off  his  glove 
and  pitching  it  in  the  snow  along  with  his  whip,  and, 
throwing  back  his  head,  he  swallowed  the  proffered 
dram  of  vodka  at  a  single  gulp. 

The  innkeeper,  most  probably  a  discharged 
Cossack,  came  out  of  the  door  with  a  demi-stoop  in 
his  hand. 

"  Who's  to  have  it  1 "  said  he. 

Tall  Vas-il-y,  a  leanish,  red-bearded  muzhik,  with 
a  goatee  beard,  and  the  counsellor,  a  stout,  white 
eye-browed  fellow,  with  a  thick  white  beard  framing 
his  red  face,  both  came  up  and  had  a  glass  or  two. 
The  little  old  man  would  also  have  liked  to  have 
joined  the  group  of  drinkers,  but  he  was  not  invited 
to  have  a  dram,  and  he  went  to  his  horses,  which 
were  tied  up  behind  the  troika^  and  began  to  stroke 
them  on  the  back  and  buttocks.  The  little  old  man 
was  just  as  I  had  imagined  him,  a  thin,  little  fellow 
with  a  wrinkled,  bluish  face,  a  sparse  beard,  a  sharp 
nose,  and  stumpy  yellow  teeth.  He  wore  a  driver's 
hat,  which  was  quite  new,  but  his  meagre  litttle  demi- 
pelisse,  threadbare,  stained  with  tar  and  torn  at  the 
shoulder  and  sides,  did  not  cover  his  knees,  and  his 
hempen  lower  garment  was  stuffed  into  his  huge  felt 

91 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

boots.  He  was  all  bent  and  wrinkled,  and  his  face 
and  knees  were  quivering  ;  he  was  busying  himself 
about  the  sledge,  with  the  obvious  endeavour  of 
getting  warm. 

"  Hillo,  Matvich !  why  don't  you  have  a  half  pint  ? 
fine  thing  for  making  you  warm  !  "  said  the  counsellor. 

Matvich  persisted  in  what  he  was  doing.  He  put 
the  harness  of  his  horses  to  rights,  put  the  low  shaft 
right  also  and  came  to  me. 

"  Look  here,  sir ! "  said  he,  taking  his  hat  from  off 
his  grey  hairs  and  bowing  low,  "  all  night  long  we've 
been  wandering  about  with  you,  seeking  the  road  ;  if 
only  now  you  would  stand  a  half  pint.  Yes,  indeed, 
little  father,  your  excellency  !  And  there's  nothing 
like  that  for  v/arming  one,"  he  added  with  an 
obsequious  smile. 

I  gave  him  a  quarter-rouble.  The  innkeeper 
brought  out  a  half-pint  and  handed  it  to  the  little 
old  man.  He  drew  off  the  whip-glove  and  extended 
a  small,  dark,  crooked  and  slightly  bluish  hand 
towards  the  glass  ;  but  his  thumb,  which  looked 
like  some  one  else's,  refused  to  obey  him  ;  he  could 
not  hold  the  glass,  and,  spilling  the  vodka^  cast  it  upon 
the  snow. 

All  the  drivers  began  to  laugh. 

"  Just  look,  Matvich  is  so  frost-bitten  that  he  cannot 
hold^his  wine." 

But  Matvich  was  very  angry  that  the  wine  was 
spilled.  However,  they  filled  him  another  glass  and 
poured  it  into  his  mouth.  Immediately  he  became 
very  lively  and  merry,  ran  into  the  inn,  lighted  his 
pipe,  began   to  simper,  and   show  his  worn,  yellow 

92 


The  Snowstorm 

teeth,  and  uttered  an  oath  at  every  word.  After 
drinking  a  final  dram,  the  drivers  dispersed  to  their 
various  troikas  and  we  proceeded.  The  snow  was 
just  as  white  and  glaring  as  ever,  so  that  it  stung  the 
eye  that  gazed  at  it.  The  orange  and  reddish  strips 
of  cloud,  mounting  higher  and  higher,  and  growing 
ever  brighter  and  brighter,  spread  over  the  sky ;  even 
the  red  sphere  of  the  sun  appeared  on  the  horizon  in 
the  midst  of  dove-coloured  clouds,  the  azure  of  the 
sky  grew  ever  more  dazzling  and  deeper.  On  the 
^road,  near  the  posting  station,  the  track  was  clear, 
precise,  and  yellowish ;  here  and  there  were  holes  ;  in 
the  frozen,  compressed  air  there  was  a  sensation  of 
pleasant  lightness  and  freshness.  My  troika  ran  very 
swiftly.  The  head  of  the  thill  horse  and  her  neck, 
with  the  mane  spread  widely  over  the  shaft-bow, 
bobbed  rapidly  up  and  down,  almost  in  one  place ; 
beneath  sounded  the  pleasant  bells  whose  tongues  no 
longer  beat,  but  rubbed  against  their  sides.  The  good 
side  horses,  tugging  together  at  the  congealed  and 
crooked  reins,  energetically  bounded  forward ;  the 
tassels  kept  bumping  away  beneath  their  very  bellies 
and  hindmost  harness.  Occasionally  the  side  horse 
would  stumble  into  one  of  the  holes  in  the 
dilapidated  road,  and,  with  its  eyes  full  of  snow-dust, 
would  struggle  briskly  out  of  it  again.  Ignashka 
now  shouted  to  his  horses  in  a  merry  tenor ;  the  dry 
frost  crackled  beneath  the  sides  of  the  sledges ;  from 
behind  us  came  the  solemnly  sonorous  sounds  of  two 
sledge-bells  and  the  drunken  shouting  of  the  drivers. 
I  glanced  back,  the  grey,  shaggy  side  horses, 
extending  their  necks,  and  breathing  methodically, 

93 


IVIope  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

with  curving  bits,  were  bounding  over  the  snow. 
Philip  shaking  his  whip,  was  adjusting  his  hat ;  the 
little  old  man,  with  drawn  up  legs,  was  lying  at  full 
length,  just  as  before,  in  the  middle  sledge. 

In  two  minutes  the  sledge  began  to  grate  upon  the 
well-swept  boards  of  the  approach  to  the  posting- 
station,  and  Ignashka  turned  towards  me  his  snow- 
covered,  merry,  weather-beaten  face. 

"  We've  arrived,  you  see,  sir !  "  said  he. 


94 


II.— THE    CAPTIVE    IN    THE    CAUCASUS 

I. 

A  GENTLEMAN  of  the  name  of  Zhilin  was  serving 
in  the  Caucasus  as  an  ofEcer.  One  day  he  received 
a  letter  from  home.  His  aged  mother  wrote  tO'  him : 
"  I  am  growing  old  and  should  like  to  see  my  dear 
little  son  before  I  die.  Come  to  me,  I  pray  you,  if 
it  be  only  to  bury  me,  and  then  in  God's  name  enter 
the  service  again.  And  I  have  found  for  you  a  nice 
bride  besides  ;  she  is  sensible,  good,  and  has  property. 
You  may  fall  in  love  with  her  perhaps,  and  you  may 
marry  her  and  be  able  to  retire." 

Zhilin  fell  a  musing :  "  Yes,  indeed,  the  old  lady  has 
been  ailing  lately,  she  might  never  live  to  see  me. 
Yes,  I'll  go,  and  if  the  girl  is  nice  I  may  marry  her  into 
the  bargain." 

So  he  went  to  his  colonel,  obtained  leave  of  absence, 
took  leave  of  his  comrades,  gave  his  soldiers  four 
pitchers  of  vodka  to  drink  his  health,  and  prepared  to 
be  off. 

There  was  war  in. the  Caucasus  then.  The  roads 
were  impassable  night  and  day.  Scarce  any  of  the 
Russians  could  go  in  or  out  of  the  fortress  but  the 
Tatars  would  kill  them  or  carry  them  off  into  the 

95 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

mountains.  So  it  was  commanded  that  twice  a  week 
a  military  escort  should  proceed  from  fortress  to 
fortress  with  the  people  in  the  midst  of  it. 

The  affair  happened  in  the  summer.  At  dawn  of 
day  the  baggag^e-wagons  assembled  in  the  fortress, 
the  military''  escort  marched  out,  and  the  whole 
company  took  the  road.  Zhilin  went  on  horseback, 
and  his  wagon  with  his  things  was  among  the  baggage. 

The  distance  to  be  traversed  was  twenty  miles, 
but  the  caravan  moved  but  slowly.  Sometimes  it  was 
the  soldiers  who  stopped,  sometimes  a  wheel  flew  off 
one  of  the  baggage-wagons,  or  a  horse  wouldn't  go — 
and  then  they  had  all  to  stop  and  wait. 

The  sun  had  already  passed  the  meridian,  and  the 
caravan  had  only  gone  half  the  distance.  There  was 
nothing  but  heat  and  dust,  the  sun  regularly  burned, 
and  there  was  no  shelter  to  be  had.  All  around 
nothing  but  the  naked  steppe — not  a  village,  not  a 
wayside  bush. 

Zhilin  had  galloped  on  in  front,  he  had  now  stopped, 
and  was  waiting  for  the  cavalcade  to  come  up.  Then 
he  heard  a  horn  blown  in  the  rear,  and  knew  that  they 
had  stopped  again.  Then  thought  Zhilin  :  "  Why  not 
go  on  by  oneself  without  the  soldiers?  I've  a  good 
horse  beneath  me,  and  if  I  stumble  upon  the  Tatars — 
I  can  make  a  bolt  for  it.     Or  shall  I  not  go  ?  " 

He  stood  there  considering,  and  up  there  came 
trotting  another  mounted  officer,  called  Kostuilin,  with 
a  musket,  and  he  said  : 

"  Let  us  go  on  alone,  Zhilin.  I  can't  stand  it 
any  longer,  I  want  some  grub  ;  the  heat  is  stifling,  and 
my  shirt  is  regularly  sticking  to  me." 

96 


The  Captive  in  the  Caucasus 

This  Kostuilin,  by  the  way,  was  a  thick,  heavy, 
red-faced  man,  and  the  sweat  was  pouring  from  him. 
Zhihn  thought  for  a  moment,  and  then  said : 

"Is  your  musket  loaded?" 

"Yes,    it   is  loaded." 

"  Well,  we'll  go,  but  on  one  condition — we  must 
keep  together." 

And  they  cantered  on  in  front  alone  the  road.  They 
went  through  the  steppe,  and  as  they  chatted  together 
they  kept  glancing  on  every  side  of  them.  They 
could  see  for  a  great  distance  around  them. 

The  steppe  at  last  had  come  to  an  end,  and  the 
way  lay  towards  a  ravine  between  two  mountains. 

"  What  are  you  looking  at  ?  Let  us  go  straight 
on !  "  said  Kostuilin.  But  Zhilin  did  not  listen  to 
him. 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  you  just  wait  below  and  I'll  go 
up  and  have  a  look  round." 

And  he  urged  his  horse  to  the  left  up  the  mountain. 
The  horse  beneath  Zhilin  was  a  good  hunter  (he  had 
bought  it  from  the  horse-fold  while  still  a  foal  for  a 
hundred  roubles,  and  had  broken  it  in  himself),  it 
carried  him  up  the  steep  ascent  as  if  on  wings.  He 
needed  but  a  single  glance  around — there  right  in  front 
of  them,  not  a  furlong  ahead,  was  a  whole  heap  of 
Tatars,  thirty  men  at  least.  He  no  sooner  saw  them 
than  he  set  about  turning,  but  the  Tatars  had  seen 
him  too,  and  posted  after  him,  drawing  their  muskets 
while  in  full  career.  Zhilin  galloped  down  the  slope 
as  fast  as  his  horse's  legs  could  carry  him,  at  the  same 
time  shouting  to  Kostuilin  : 

"  Out  with  the  muskets !     And  you,  my  beauty  " — 

97  G 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi  * 

he  was  thinking  of  his  horse — "  you,  my  beauty,  spread 
yourself  o^ut  and  don't  knock  your  foot  against 
anything,  for  if  you  stumble  now  we're  lost.  Let 
me  but  get  to  my  musket,  and  I'm  hanged  if  I 
surrender." 

But  Kostuilin,  instead  of  waiting,  bolted  off  at  full 
speed  in  the  direction  of  the  fortress  as  soon  as  he 
beheld  the  Tatars.  He  lashed  his  horse  first  on  one 
side  and  then  on  the  other.  Only  the  strong  sweep 
of  her  tail  was  visible  in  the  dust. 

Zhilin  perceived  that  he  was  in  a  bit  of  a  hole.  His 
musket  was  gone,  and  with  a  simple  shashka*  nothing 
could  be  done.  He  drove  his  horse  on  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Russian  soldiers — there  was  just  a  chance 
of  getting  away.  He  saw  that  six  of  them  were 
galloping  away  to  cut  him  off.  He  had  a  good  horse 
under  him,  but  they  had  still  better,  and  they  were 
racing  their  hardest  to  bar  his  way.  He  began  to 
hesitate,  wanted  to  turn  in  another  direction,  but  his 
horse  had  lost  her  head,  he  couldn't  control  her,  and 
she  was  rushing  right  upon  them.  He  saw  approach- 
ing him  on  a  grey  horse  a  Tatar  with  a  red  beard. 
The  Tatar  uttered  a  shrill  cry,  gnashed  his  teeth, 
and  his  musket  was  all  ready. 

"  Well,"  thought  Zhilin,  "  I  know  what  you  are,  you 
devils,  if  you  take  me  alive  you'll  put  me  in  a  dungeon 
and  whip  me.     I'll  not  be  taken  alive." 

Zhilin  was  simall  of  stature,  but  he  was  brave. 
Drawing  his  shashkuy  he  urged  his  horse  straight  upon 
the   red-bearded  Tatar,    thinking   to   himself :    "  I'll 

*  A  Circassian  sabre. 

98 


The  Captive  in  the  Cauca.sus 

either  ride  down  his  horse  or  fell  him  with  my 
shashka!' 

But  Zhilin  never  got  up  to  the  Tatar  horse.  They 
fired  upon  him  from  behind  with  their  muskets  and 
attacked  his  horse.  His  horse  fell  to  the  ground  with 
a  crash,  and  Zhilin  was  thrown  off  her  back.  He  tried 
to  rise,  but  two  strong-smelling  Tatars  were  already 
sitting  upon  him  and  twisting  his  arms  behind  his 
back.  He  writhed  and  twisted  and  threw  off  the 
Tatars,  but  then  three  more  leaped  off  their  horses 
and  sprang  upon  him,  and  began  beating  him  about  the 
head  with  the  butt-ends  of  their  muskets.  It  grew  dark 
before  his  eyes,  and  he  began  to  feel  faint.  Then  the 
Tatars  seized  him,  rifled  his  saddle-bags,  fastened  his 
arms  behind  his  back,  tying  them  with  a  Tatar  knot, 
and  dragged  him  to  the  saddle.  They  snatched  off 
his  hat,  they  pulled  off  his  boots,  examined  everything, 
extorted  his  money  and  his  watch,  and  ripped  up  all 
his  clothes.  Zhilin  glanced  at  his  horse.  She,  his 
dearly-beloved  comrade,  lay  just  as  she  had  fallen, 
on  her  back,  with  kicking  feet  which  vainly  tried  to 
reach  the  ground.  There  was  a  hole  in  her  head,  and 
out  of  this  hole  the  black  blood  gushed  with  a  hiss — 
for  several  yards  around  the  dust  was  wet. 

One  of  the  Tatars  went  to  the  horse  and  proceeded 
to  take  the  saddle  from  her  back.  She  went  on 
kicking  all  the  time,  and  he  drew  forth  a  knife  and 
cut  her  windpipe.  There  was  a  hissing  sound  from 
her  throat,  she  shivered  all  over,  and  the  breath  of 
her  life  was  gone. 

The  Tatars  took  away  the  saddle  and  bridle.  The 
Tatar  with  the  red   beard  mounted  his  horse  and 

99 


Mope  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

the  others  put  Zhilin  up  behind  him.  To  prevent  him 
falUng  off  they  fastened  him  by  a  thong  to  the  Tatar's 
belt  and  led  him  away  into  the  mountains. 

So  there  sat  Zhilin  behind  the  Tatar,  and  at 
every  moment  he  weus  jolted  against,  and  his  very  nose 
came  in  contact  with  the  Tatar's  malodorous  back. 
All  that  he  could  see  in  front  of  him,  indeed,  was 
the  sturdy  Tatar's  back,  his  sinewy,  shaven  neck 
sticking  out  all  bluish  from  beneath  his  hat.  Zhilin's 
head  was  all  battered,  and  the  blood  kept  trickling 
into  his  eyes.  And  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  right 
himself  on  his  horse  or  wipe  away  the  blood.  His 
arms  were  twisted  so  tightly  that  his  very  collar-bone 
was  in  danger  of  breaking. 

They  travelled  for  a  long  time  from  mountain  to 
mountain,  crossed  a  ford,  diverged  from  the  road, 
and  entered  a  ravine. 

Zhilin  would  have  liked  to  have  marked  the  road 
by  which  they  were  taking  him,  but  his  eyes  were 
clotted  with  blood  and  he  couldn't  turn  round 
properly. 

It  began  to  grow  dark.  They  crossed  yet  another 
river  and  began  to  ascend  a  rocky  mountain,  and 
then  came  a  smell  of  smoke  and  the  barking  of 
dogs ! 

At  last  they  came  to  the  aulox  Tatar  village.  The 
Tatars  dismounted  from  their  horses  and  a  crowd  of 
Tatar  children  assembled,,  who  surrounded  Zhilin, 
fell  a  yelling  and  making  merry,  and  took  up  stones 
to  cast  at  Him. 

The  Tatar  drove  away  the  children,  took  Zhilin  from 
his  horse,  and  called  a  workman.     Up  came  a  hatchet- 

ico 


The  Captive  in  the  Caucasus 

faced  Nogaets,^  clad  only  in  a  shirt,  and  as  the  shirt 
was  torn  the  whole  of  ^his  breast  was  bare.  The 
Tatar  gave  some  orders  to  him  The  workman 
brought  a  kolodka,  that  is  to  say,  two  oaken  blocks 
fastened  together  by  iron  rings,  and  in  one  of  the 
rings  a  cramping  iron  and  a  lock.  Then  they  undid 
Zhilin's  hands,  attached  the  kolodka  to  his  feet,  led 
him  into  an  outhouse,  thrust  him  into  it,  and  fastened 
the  door.  Zhilin  fell  upon  a  dung-heap.  For  a 
time  he  lay  where  he  fell,  then  he  fumbled  his  way 
in' the  dark  to  the  softest  place  he  could  find,  and  lay 
down  there. 

II. 

Zhilin  scarcely  slept  at  all  during  the  night.  It 
was  the  season  of  short  nights.  He  could  see  it 
growing  light  through  a  rift  in  the  wall.  Zhilin  arose, 
made  the  rift  a  little  bigger,  and  looked  out. 

Through  the  rift  the  high  road  was  visible  going 
down  the  mountain-side,  to  the  right  was  a  Tatar 
saklya,-\  with  two  villages  beside  it.  A  black  dog 
lay  upon  the  threshold,  a  goat  with  her  kids  passed 
along  whisking  their  tails.  He  saw  a  Tatar  milkmaid 
coming  down  from  the  mountains  in  a  flowered-belted 
blouse,  trousers  and  boots,  with  her  head  covered 
by  a  kaftan,  and  on  her  head  a  large  tin  kuv^nX  full 
of  water.  She  walked  with  curved  back  and  head 
bent  forward,  and  led  by  the  hand  a  little  closely 
cropped  Tatar  boy  in  a  little  shirt. 

*  A  Tatar  of  the  Nogai  tribe. 

f  A  mountain  hut  in  tlie  Caucasus. 

X  An  earthen,  bulging  pitcher,  with  a  narrow  neck  and  a  handle. 

lOI 


Mope  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

The  Tatar  girl  took  the  water  to  the  saklya,  and 
out  came  the  Tatar  of  yesterday  evening,  with  the 
red  beard,  in  a  silken  beshmet^  with  slippers  on  his 
naked  feet  and  a  silver  knife  in  his  leather  girdle.  On 
his  head  he  wore  a  lofty,  black  sheepskin  hat,  flattened 
down  behind  He  came  out,  stretched  himself,  and 
stroked  his  bountiful  red  beard.  He  stayed  there  for 
a  while,  gave  some  orders  to  his  labourer,  and  went 
off  somewhither. 

Next  there  passed  by  two  children  on  horses  which 
they  had  just  watered.  The  horses'  nozzles  were 
wet.  Then  some  more  closely  cropped  youngsters 
ran  by  in  nothing  but  shirts,  without  hose,  and  they 
collected  into  a  group,  went  to  the  outhouse,  took  up 
a  long  twig  and  thrust  it  through  the  rift  in  the  v/all. 
Zhilin  gave  such  a  shout  at  them  that  the  children 
screamed  in  chorus  and  took  to  their  heels,  a  gleam  of 
naked  little  knees  was  the  last  that  was  seen  of 
them. 

But  Zhilin  wanted  drink,  his  throat  was  parched 
and  dry.  "  If  only  they  would  come  to  examine  me," 
thought  he.  He  listened — they  were  opening  the 
outhouse.  The  red-bearded  Tatar  appeared,  and  with 
him  came  another,  smaller  in  stature,  a  blackish  sort 
of  little  man.  His  eyes  were  bright  and  black,  he 
was  ruddy  and  had  a  sm.all  cropped  beard,  his  face 
was  merry,  he  was  all  smiles.  The  swarthy  man  was 
dressed  even  better  than  the  other ;  his  silken 
beshmet  was  blue  and  trimmed  with  galoon,  the  large 
dagger  in  his  belt  was  of  silver,  his  red  morocco 
slippers  were   also   trimmed   with  silver.     Moreover, 

*  A  Tatar  under-tunic. 
1 02 


The  Captive  in  the  Caucasus 

thick  outer  slippers  covered  the  finer  inner  ones.  He 
wore  a  lofty  hat  of  white  lamb's-wool. 

The  red-bearded  Tatar  came  in  and  there  was  some 
conversation,  and  apparently  a  dispute  began.  He 
lent  his  elbows  on  the  gate,  fingered  his  hanger,  and 
glanced  furtively  at  Zhilin  like  a  hungry  wolf.  But 
the  swarthy  man — he  was  a  quick,  lively  fellow,  who 
seemed  to  move  upon  springs — came  straight  up  to 
Zhilin,  sat  down  on  his  heels,  grinned,  showing  all 
his  teeth,  patted  him  on  the  shoulder,  and  began  to 
jabber  something  in  a  peculiar  way  of  his  own,  blinking 
his  eyes,  clicking  with  his  tongue,  and  saying 
repeatedly : 

"  Korosho  urus !     Korosho  urus !  "* 

Zhilin  did  not  understand  a  word  of  it,  and  all  he 
said  was : 

"  I  am  thirsty,  give  me  a  drink  of  water !  " 

The  swarthy  man  laughed.  "  Korosho  urus !  "  he 
said  again — 'babbling  away  in  his  own  peculiar 
manner. 

Zhilin  tried  to  make  them  understand  by  a  panto- 
mime with  his  hands  and  lips  that  he  wanted  some- 
thing to  drink. 

The  swarthy  man  understood  at  last,  went  out  and 
called : 

"Dina!  Dina!" 

A  very  thin,  slender  girl,  about  thirteen  years  of 
age,  with  a  face  very  like  the  swarthy  man's,  then 
appeared.  Plainly  she  was  the  swarthy  man's 
daughter.      She  also  had  black  sparkling  eyes  and 

*  I.e. — "Khorosho  russ"  =  fine  Russian  man. 
103 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

a  ruddy  complexion.  She  was  dressed  in  a  long  blue 
blouse  with  white  sleeves  and  without  a  girdle.  The 
folds,  sleeves,  and  breast  of  her  garment  were  beauti- 
fully trimmed.  She  also  wore  trousers  and'  slippers, 
and  the  inner  slippers  were  protected  by  outer  slippers 
with  high  heels.  Round  her  neck  she  wore  a  neck- 
lace of  'R.ussidin  poltiniks*  Her  head  was  uncovered, 
her  hair  was  black,  and  in  her  hair  was  a  ribbon, 
from  which  dangled  a  metallic  plaque  and  a  silver 
rouble. 

Her  father  gave  her  some  orders.  She  ran  out, 
and  returned  again  immediately  with  a  tin  kuv- 
shinchik.-\  She  handed  the  water  to  Zhilin  herself, 
plumping  down  on  her  heels,  bending  right  forward 
so  that  her  shoulders  were  lower  than  her  knees. 
There  she  sat,  staring  at  Zhilin  with  wide-open  eyes 
as  he  drank,  just  as  if  he  were  some  wild  animal. 

Zhilin  gave  the  kuvshinchik  back  to  her,  and  back 
she  bounded  like  a  wild  goat.  Even  her  father 
couldn't  help  laughing.  Then  he  sent  her  somewhere 
or  other.  She  took  the  kuvshinchik,  ran  off,  and 
came  back  with  some  unleavened  bread  on  a  little 
round  platter,  and  again  she  crouched  down,  all 
humped  forward,  gazing  at  Zhilin  with  all  her  eyes. 

Then  all  the  Tatars  went  out  and  closed  the  door 
behind  them. 

After  a  little  while  the  Nogaets  came  to  Zhilin  and 
said: 

"  Come  along,  master !  come  along !  " 

He  also  did  not  know  Russian.     It  was  plain  to 

*  Half  roubles,     f  A  small  kuvshin.     See  preceding  note. 
104 


The  Captive  in  the  Caucasus 

Zhilin,  however,  that  he  was  ordering  him  to  come 
somewhither. 

ZhiHn  followed  him,  still  wearing  the  kolodka.  He 
limped  all  the  way,  to  walk  was  impossible,  as  he 
had  constantly  to  twist  his  foot  to  one  side.  So 
Zhilin  followed  the  Nogaets  outside.  He  saw  the 
Tatar  village' — ten  houses,  with  their  mosque  which 
had  a  tower.  Before  one  house  stood  three  saddled 
horses.  A  tiny  boy  was  holding  their  bridles.  All 
at  once  the  swarthy  man  came  leaping  out  of  his 
house,  and  waved  his  hand  to  Zhilin  to  signify  to  him 
to  approach.  The  Tatar  was  smiling,  jabbering  after 
his  fashion,  and  quickly  disappeared  into  the  house 
again.  Zhilin  entered  the  house.  The  living-room 
was  a  good  one,  the  walls  were  of  smoothly-polished 
clay.  Variegated  pillows  were  piled  up  against  the 
front  Wall,  rich  carpets  hung  up  at  the  entrance  on 
each  side  ;  arms  of  various  sorts — ^pistols,  shashki,  all 
of  silver — ^were  hanging  on  the  carpets.  In  one  corner 
was  a  little  stove  level  with  the  ground.  The  earthen 
floor  was  as  clean  as  a  threshing-floor,  the  front  corner 
w^as  all  covered  with  felt,  on  the  felt  were  carpets, 
and  on  the  carpets  soft  cushions.  And  on  the  carpets, 
in  nothing  but  their  bashmaks*  sat  the  Tatars — there 
were  five  of  them,  the  red-bearded  man,  the  swarthy 
man,  and  three  guests.  Soft  bulging  cushions  had 
been  placed  behind  the  backs  of  them  all,  and  in 
front  of  them,  on  a  small  platter,  were  boltered  pan- 
cakes, beef  distributed  in  little  cups,  and  the  Tatar 
beverage — bu.za\ — in  a  kuvshinchik.  They  ate  with 
their  hands,  and  all  their  hands  were  in  the  meat. 

*  Slippers.      f  A  drink  made  from  buck-wheat  and  oatmeal. 
105 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

The  swarthy  man  leaped  to  his  feet,  and  bade  Zhihn 
sit  down  apart,  not  on  the  carpet,  but  on  the  bare 
floor ;  then  he  went  back  to  his  carpet,  and  regaled 
his  guests  with  pancakes  and  buza.  The  labourer 
made  Zhilin  sit  down  in  the  place  assigned  to  him, 
he  himself  took  off  his  outer  bashmaks,  placed  them 
side  by  side  at  the  door,  where  the  other  bashmaks 
stood,  then  sat  down  on  the  felt  nearer  to  his  masters  ; 
he  watched  how  they  ate,  and  his  mouth  watered  as 
he  wiped  it.  When  the  Tatars  had  eaten  the  pan- 
cakes, a  Tatar  woman  appeared  in  just  the  same  sort 
of  blouse  that  the  girl  had  worn,  and  in  trousers  also- ; 
her  head  was  covered  with  a  cloth. 

She  took  away  the  meat  and  the  pancakes,  and 
brought  round  a  good  washing  vessel,  and  a  kuvshin 
with  a  very  narrow  spout.  The  Tatars  then  began 
washing  their  hands,  then  they  folded  their  arms, 
squatted  down  on  their  knees,  belched  in  every 
direction,  and  recited  prayers.  Then  they  talked 
among  themselves.  Finally,  one  of  the  guests  turned 
towards  Zhilin,  and  began  to  speak  in  Russian. 

"  Kazi  Muhammed  took  thee,"  said  he,  pointing  to 
the  red-bearded  Tatar,  "  and  has  sold  thee  to  Abdul 
Murad,"  and  he  indicated  the  swarthy  Tatar.  "  Abdul 
Murad  is  now  thy  master." 

Zhilin  was  silent. 

Then  Abdul  Murad  began  to  speak,  and  kept  on 
pointing  at  Zhilin,  and  laughed  and  said,  several  times, 
"  Soldat  urus !     Korosho  urus !  "* 

The  interpreter  said : 

*  The  Russian  soldier.     The  fine  Russian. 

io6 


The  Captive  in  the  Caucasus 

"  He  bids  thee  write  a  letter  home  in  order  that 
they  may  send  a  ransom  for  thee.  As  soon  as  they 
send  the  money,  thou  shalt  be  set  free." 

Zhihn  thought  for  a  moment,  and  then  said : 

"  How  much  ransom  does  he  require  ?  " 

The  Tatars  talked  among  themselves,  and  then  the 
interpreter  said : 

"  Three  thousand  moneys." 

"  No,"  said  Zhilin,  "  I  cannot  pay  that." 

Abdul  started  up  and  began  waving  his  hands,  and 
said  something  to  Zhilin — ^they  all  thought  he  under- 
stood.    The  interpreter  interpreted,  saying : 

"  How  much  wilt  thou  give  ?  " 

Zhilin  reflected,  and  then  said,  "  Five  hundred 
roubles." 

At  this  the  Tatars  chattered  a  great  deal  and  all 
together.  Abdul  began  to  screech  at  the  red-bearded 
Tatar,  and  got  so  excited  that  the  spittle  trickled 
from  his  mouth.  The  red-bearded  Tatar  only  blinked 
his  eyes  and  clicked  with  his  tongue. 

Then  they  were  silent  again,  and  the  interpreter 
said  : 

"  Thy  master  thinks  a  ransom  of  five  hundred 
roubles  too  little.  He  himself  paid  two  hundred  roubles 
for  thee.  Kazi  Muhammed  owed  him  that,  and  he 
took  thee  in  discharge  of  the  debt.  Three  thousand 
roubles  is  the  least  they  will  let  thee  go  for.  And  if 
thou  dost  not  write  they  will  put  thee  in  the  dungeon 
and  punish  thee  with  scourging." 

"  What  am  I  to  do  with  them  ?  this  is  even  worse 
than  I  thought,"  said  Zhilin  to  himself.  Then  he 
leaped  to  his  feet  and  said, 

107 


IVIore  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

"  Tell  him,  thou  dog,  that  if  he  wants  to  frighten 
me,  I  won't  give  him  a  kopeck,  neither  will  1  write 
at  all.  I  have  never  feared,  and  I  will  not  fear  you 
now,  you  dog." 

The  interpreter  interpreted,  and  again  they  all 
began  talking  at  once. 

For  a  long  time  they  debated,  and  then  the  swarthy 
man  leaped  to  his  feet  and  came  to  Zhilin. 

"  Urus  !  "  said  he,  "  dzhiget,  dzhiget  urus  !  " — and 
then  he  laughed. 

"  Dzhiget "  in  their  language  signifies  "  youth." 

Then  he  said  something  to  the  interpreter,  and 
the  interpreter  said  :    "  Give  a  thousand  roubles !  " 

Zhilin  stood  to  his  guns.  "  More  than  five  hundred 
I  will  not  give,"  said  he.  "  You  may  kill  me  if  you 
like,  but  you'll  get  no  more  out  of  me." 

The  Tatars  fell  a  talking  together  again,  then  they 
sent  out  the  labourer  for  someone,  and  kept  looking 
at  the  door  and  at  Zhilin.  Presently  the  workman 
came  back  and  brought  with  him  a  man — stout,  bare- 
legged, and  cheery-looking,  he  also  had  a  kolodka 
fastened  to  his  leg. 

Then  Zhilin  sighed  indeed,  for  he  recognised 
Kostuilin.  So  they  had  taken  him  too  then!  The 
Tatars  placed  them  side  by  side,  they  began  talking 
to  each  other,  and  the  Tatars  w^ere  silent  and  looked 
on.  Zhilin  related  how  it  had  fared  with  him, 
Kostuilin  told  him  that  his  horse  had  sunk  under 
him,  that  his  musket  had  missed  fire,  and  that  that 
selfsame  Abdul  had  chased  and  captured  him. 

Abdul  leaped  to  his  feet,  pointed  at  Kostuilin,  and 
said    something.     The    interpreter    interpreted    that 

io8 


The  Captive  in  the  Caucasus 

they  both  of  them  had  now  one  master,  and  whichever 
of  them  paid  up  first  should  be  released  first. 

"  Look  now,"  said  he  to  Zhilin,  "  thou  makest  such 
a  to  do,  but  thy  comrade  takes  it  quietly ;  he  has 
written  a  letter  home  telling  them  to  send  five 
thousand  roubles.  Look  now  !  he  shall  be  fed  well 
and  shall  be  respected." 

"  My  comrade  can  do  as  he  likes,"  said  Zhilin, 
"  no  doubt  he  is  rich,  but  I  am  not  rich.  What  I 
have  said  that  will  I  do.  You  may  kill  me  if  you 
like,  but  you  will  get  little  profit  out  of  that — ^I  will 
not  write  for  more  than  five  hundred  roubles." 

They  were  silent  for  a  while.  Suddenly  Abdul 
leaped  up  and  produced  a  small  coffer,  took  out  a 
pen,  a  piece  of  paper  and  ink,  forced  them  upon 
Zhilin,  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder,  and,  pointing  to 
them,  said  :  "  Write  !  "  He  had  agreed  to  take  five 
hundred  roubles. 

"  Wait  a  bit,"  said  Zhilin  to  the  interpreter ;  "  tell 
him  that  he  must  feed  us  well,  clothe  and  shoe  us 
decently,  and  let  us  be  together — ^we  shall  be  happier 
then — and  take  off  the  kolodka"  He  himself  then 
looked  at  his  master  and  laughed.  And  his  master 
laughed  likewise.  He  heard  the  interpreter  out,  and 
then  said :  "  I  will  give  you  the  best  of  clothing,  a 
Circassian  costume  and  good  boots — you  might  be 
married  in  them.  And  I'll  feed  you  like  princes. 
And  if  you  want  to  dwell  together — well,  you  can 
dwell  in  the  outhouse.  I  can't  take  off  the  kolodka-^ 
you  would  run  away.  Only  at  night  can  I  take  it 
off."  Then  he  rushed  forward  and  tapped  him  on 
the  shoulder — "  Thy  good  is  my  good  !  "  said  he. 

109 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

Then  Zhilin  wrote  the  letter,  and  he  wrote  no 
address  on  the  letter,  so  that  it  should  not  go.  But 
he  thought  to  himself: 

"  I'll  run  away." 

Then  they  led  away  Zhilin  and  Kostuilin  to  the 
outhouse,  brought  them  maize-straw  to  spread  on  the 
ground,  water  in  a  kuvshin,  bread,  two  old  Circassian 
costumes,  and  two  pairs  of  tattered  military  boots. 
They  had  plainly  been  taken  from  off  the  feet  of 
slain  soldiers.  At  night  they  took  off  their  kolodki 
and  fastened  the  door. 


III. 


Zhilin  and  his  comrade  lived  there  for  a  whole 
month.  And  Zhilin's  master  was  as  radiant  as  ever. 
"  Ivan,"  he  would  say  laughing,  "  thy  good  is  my 
good — ^Abdul's  good."  They  were  badly  fed  all  the 
same,  getting  nothing  but  unleavened  bread,  made 
from  indifferent  meal,  and  tough  and  doughy  hearth- 
cakes. 

Kostuilin  wrote  home  once  more,  and  waited  for 
the  money  to  be  sent,  in  utter  weariness.  The  whole 
day  they  sat  in  the  outhouse  and  counted  the  days 
it  would  take  the  letter  to  arrive,  or  else  they  slept. 
Zhilin,  however,  knew  very  well  that  his  letter  would 
not  arrive,  and  he  did  not  write  another. 

"  Where  I  should  like  to  know,"  thought  he,  "  would 
my  mother  be  able  to  scrape  together  so  much  money 
to  pay  me  out?  It  was  as  much  as  she  could  do  to 
live  on  what  I  sent  her.     If  she  had  to  collect  five 

no 


The  Captive  In  the  Caucasus 

hundred  roubles  she  would  come  to  grief  altogether. 
With  God's  help,  Til  get  out  of  this  hobble  myself." 

So  he  looked  carefully  about  and  devised  every 
possible  method  of  escaping.  He  would  go  about 
the  aul  whistling,  or  he  would  sit  down  here  and  there 
and  maii,ufacture  various  sorts  of  little  things,  or 
model  a  puppet  out  of  clay,  or  weave  baskets  from 
twigs.  For  Zhilin  was  a  master  at  all  sorts  of  handi- 
work. 

Once  he  modelled  a  puppet  v/ith  a  nose,  arms,  and 
legs  in  a  Tatar  shirt,  and  put  this  puppet  on  the  roof 
of  the  outhouse. 

Presently  the  Tatar  women  came  out  to  draw  water. 
Dinka,  the  daughter  of  the  house,  saw  the  puppet 
and  called  the  Tatar  women  to  look  at  it.  They  put 
down  their  kuvshini,  looked  at  it  long  and  laughed 
aloud  Zhilin  took  up  the  puppet  and  offered  it  to 
them.  They  laughed  still  more,  but  were  afraid  to 
take  it.  So  he  put  the  puppet  on  the  roof,  went  into 
the  outhouse,  and  watched  to  see  what  would  happen. 

Dina  then  came  running  up,  glanced  all  around, 
seized  the  puppet,  and  ran  away  with  it. 

Next  morning  at  dawn  he  saw  Dina  across  the 
threshold  with  the  puppet.  She  had  already  adorned 
the  puppet  with  all  sorts  of  parti-coloUred  rags,  and 
was  rocking  it  as  if  it  were  a  child,  singing  a  lullaby 
of  her  own  invention.  Then  the  old  woman  came  out 
and  scolded  her,  snatched  away  the  puppet,  smashed 
it,  and  sent  Dina  off  to  work  somewhere. 

Then  Zhilin  made  another  and  -even  better  puppet 
and  gave  it  to  Dina.  Presently  Dina  came  again, 
bringing  with  her  a  little  pitcher  which  she  put  on 

III 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

the  floor,  and  then  sat  down  and  looked  at  Zhilin,  amd 
smiling  all  over,  kept  pointing  at  the  pitcher. 

"  Why  is  she  so  delighted  ?  "  thought  Zhilin.  Then 
he  took  up  the  pitcher  and  began  to  drink.  He 
thought  it  was  water,  but  it  was  milk.  He  drank  all 
the  milk.  "  Khorosho !  ""^^  said  he.  How  rejoiced 
Dina  was  then! 

"Khorosho,  Ivan,  Khorosho,"  she  repeated,  and 
leaping  to  her  feet,  she  clapped  her  hands,  snatched 
up  the  pitcher,  and  ran  off. 

And  from  thenceforth  she,  every  day,  brought  him 
some  milk  privately.  Now  the  Tatars  used  to  make 
cheese-cakes  out  of  goats'  milk  and  dried  them  on 
their  roofs,  and  these  cheese-cakes  she  also  supplied 
him  with  secretly.  i\nd  once,  when  the  master  of 
the  house  slaughtered  a  sheep,  she  brought  him  a  bit 
of  mutton  in  her  sleeve,  flung  it  down  before  him  and 
ran  off 

Occasionally  there  were  heavy  storms,  and  the 
rain  poured  down  for  a  whole  hour  as  if  out  of  a 
bucket,  and  all  the  streams  grew  turbid  and  over- 
flowed. Where  there  had  been  a  ford  there  was  then 
three  arshins\  of  water,  and  the  stones  were  whirled 
from  their  places.  Streams  then  flowed  everyvvhere, 
and  there  was  a  distant  roar  in  the  mountains.  And 
so  when  the  storm  had  passed  over,  the  whole  village 
was  full  of  watercourses.  After  one  of  these  storms 
Zhilin  asked  his  master  to  lend  him  a  knife,  carved 
out  a  little  cylinder  and  a  little  board,  attached  a 
wheel  to  them,  and  fastened  a  puppet  at  each  end  of 
the  wheel. 

*  Good.         t  An  arshin  is  a  Russian  ell. 
112 


The  Captive  in  the  Caucasus 

The  girls  thereupon  brought  him  rags,  and  he 
dressed  up  one  of  his  puppets  as  a  man  and  the  other 
as  a  woman,  fastened  them  well  in,  and  placed  the 
wheel  in  the  stream,  whereupon  the  wheel  turned  and 
the  puppets  leaped  up  and  down. 

The  whole  village  assembled  to  look  at  them. 
The  little  boys  came,  and  the  little  girls  and  the 
women,  and  at  last  the  Tatars  themselves,  and  they 
clicked  their  tongues  and  said:  "Aye!  Urus!  aye, 
Ivan!" 

Now  Abdul  had  some  broken  Russian  watches. 
He  called  Zhilin,  pointed  at  these  watches,  and 
clicked  with  his  tongue.     Zhilin  said  : 

"  Give  them  to  me,  and  I'll  repair  them !  " 

He  took  them  to  pieces  with  the  help  of  his  knife, 
examined  them,  put  them  together  again,  and 
returned  them  to  their  owner.  The  watches  were 
now  going. 

Zhilin's  master  was  greatly  delighted'  at  this,  and 
brought  him  his  old  beshmet,  which  was  all  in  rags, 
and  gave  it  to  him  to  mend.  What  could  Zhilin  do 
but  take  and  mend  it — and  the  same  night  its  owner 
was  able  to  cover  himself  with  it. 

From  henceforth  Zhilin  had  the  reputation  of  a 
master-craftsman.  The  people  used  now  to  come  to 
him  from  distant  villages ;  one  sent  his  matchlodk  or 
his  pistol  to  Zhilin  to  be  mended,  another  sent  his 
watch  or  clock.  His  master  even  gave  him  various 
utensils  to  mend,  such  as  snuffers,  gimlets,  and  other 
things. 

Once  one  of  the  Tatars  fell  ill,  and  they  sent  for 
Zhilin  to  see  him. 

113  H 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

"  Come  and  cure  him !  "  said  they. 

Now  Zhihn  knew  nothing  at  all  about  curing. 
Nevertheless,  he  went,  looked  at  the  man,  and 
thought :  "  Who  knows,  perhaps  he  may  get  well  by 
himself !  "  So  he  went  back  to  the  outhouse,  got 
water  and  sand,  and  mixed  them  both  together. 
Then  he  whispered  something  over  the  water  in  the 
Tatar's  presence  and  gave  him  the  mixture  to  drink. 
Fortunately  for  him  the  Tatar  recovered.  Then 
Zhilin  began  to  stand  very  high  indeed  in  their 
opinion.  And  these  Tatars,  who  had  got  used  to  him, 
used  to  cry,  "  Ivan !  Ivan !  "  whenever  they  wanted 
him,  and  all  of  them  treated  him  as  if  he  were  some 
pet  domestic  animal. 

But  the  red-bearded  Tatar  did  not  like  Zhilin. 
Whenever  he  saw  him  he  would  frown  and  turn  away, 
even  if  he  didn't  scold  him  outright.  Now  these 
Tatars  had  an  old  chief  who  did  not  live  in  the  aul 
but  up  in  the  mountains.  The  only  time  when  he 
saw  Zhilin  was  when  he  came  to  pray  to  God  in  the 
mosque.  He  was  small  in  stature,  and  a  white  hand- 
kerchief was  always  wound  around  his  turban,  his 
beard  and  moustaches  were  clipped  short  and  as 
white  as  down,  his  face  was  red  like  a  brick  and 
wrinkled.  He  had  the  curved  nose  of  a  vulture,  grey 
evil  eyes,  and  no  teeth,  except  a  couple  of  fangs- 
He  used  to  come  in  his  turban,  leaning  on  his 
crutch,  and  glaring  about  him  like  an  old  wolf. 
Whenever  he  saw  Zhilin  he  began  to  snarl  and 
turned  away. 

Once  Zhilin  went  up  the  mountain  to  see  how  the 
old  chief  lived.     As  he  went  along  a  little  path  he 

114 


The  Captive  in  the  Caucasus 

saw  a  little  garden  surrounded  by  a  stone  fence  with 
wild  cherry  and  peach  trees  looking  over  it,  and  inside 
a  little  hut  with  a  flat  roof.  Zhilin  approached  nearer, 
and  then  he  saw  beehives  made  of  plaited  straw — 
ului  they  called  them — and  the  bees  flying  about 
and  humming.  And  the  little  old  man  was  on  his 
tiny  knees  doing  something  to  the  hives.  Zhilin 
raised  himself  a  little  higher  to  have  a  better  look, 
and  his  kolodka  grated.  The  little  old  man  looked 
round  and  whined  aloud,  then  he  drew  a  pistol  out 
of  his  girdle  and  fired  point-blank  at  Zhilin.  After 
firing  he  hid  behind  a  stone. 

Next  morning  the  old  man  came  down  to  Zhilin's 
master  to  complain  of  him.  Zhilin's  master  called  him 
and  said  to  him  v/ith  a  laugh: 

"  Why  didst  thou  go  to  the  old  man  ?  " 

"  I  did  him  no  harm,"  said  Zhilin.  "  I  only  wanted 
to  see  how  he  lived." 

Zhilin's  master  interpreted. 

The  old  man  was  very  angry  however.  He  hissed 
and  gabbled,  and  his  two  fangs  protruded,  and  he 
shook  his  fist  at  Zhilin. 

Zhilin  did  not  understand  it  at  all.  All  he  under- 
stood vv^as  that  the  old  man  bade  his  master  kill  all 
the  Russians  and  not  keep  any  of  them  in  the  aid. 
Finally,  the  old  man  went  away. 

Zhilin  now  began  to  ask  his  master  who  the  little 
old  man  was,  and  this  is  what  his  master  told  him. 

"  That  is  a  great  man.  He  was  our  foremost 
zhigit*  and  has  killed  many  Russians  ;  he  is  also  rich. 
Once  he  had  eight  sons,  and  they  all  dwelt  together 

*  Hero. 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

in  one  village.  The  Russians  came,  destroyed  the 
village,  and  slew  seven  of  his  sons.  One  son  only 
remained,  and  he  surrendered  to  the  Russians.  Then 
the  old  man  went  away,  and  surrendered  himself  also  to 
the  Russians.  He  lived  with  them  for  three  months, 
found  out  where  his  son  was,  slew  him,  and  ran  away. 
From  thenceforth  he  renounced  warfare  and  went 
to  Mecca — to  pray  to  God.  Hence  he  has  his  turban. 
Whoever  has  been  to  Mecca  is  called  Hadji,  and 
may  put  on  a  turban.  He  does  not  love  thy  brother.* 
He  bade  me  slay  thee,  but  I  will  not  slay  thee,  because 
I  want  to  make  money  out  of  thee ;  and,  besides,  I 
have  begun  to  love  thee,  Ivan,  and  so  far  from  killing 
thee,  I  would  not  let  thee  go  away  at  all  if  I  hadn't 
given  my  word  upon  it."  He  laughed,  and  then  he 
added  in  Russian  :  "  The  welfare  of  thee,  Ivan,  is  the 
welfare  of  me,  Abdul !  " 

IV. 

So  Zhilin  lived  like  this  for  a  month.  In  the  day- 
time he  went  about  the  aul,  or  made  all  sorts  of 
things  with  his  hands,  and  when  night  came,  and  all 
was  silent  in  the  aul,  he  began  digging  inside  his  out- 
house. Digging  was  difficult  because  of  the  rock,  but 
he  fretted  away  the  rock  with  a  file,  and  dug  a  hole 
under  the  wall,  through  which,  at  the  proper  time, 
he  meant  to  crawl. 

"  If  only  I  knew  the  place  fairly  well,"  he  said  to 
himself,  "  if  only  I  knew  in  which  direction  to  go. 
But  the  Tatars  never  give  themselves  away." 

*  The  speaker  himself. 

Ii6 


I 


The  Captive  in  the  Caucasus 

One  day  he  chose  a  time  when  his  master  had 
gone  away,  and  after  dinner  he  went  up  the  mountain 
behind  the  aul — he  wanted  to  survey  the  whole  place 
from  thence.  But  when  his  master  went  away  he 
had  commanded  a  lad  to  follow  Zhilin  wherever  he 
went  and  not  lose  sight  of  him.  So  the  youngster 
ran  after  Zhilin,  and  cried :  "  Don't  go !  Father 
didn't  tell  you  to.     I'll  call  the  people  this  instant" 

Zhilin  set  about  persuading  him. 

"  I'm  not  going  far,"  said  he,  "  I  only  want  to  climb 
that  mountain  there.  I  want  to  find  herbs  to  cure 
your  people.  Come  with  me!  I  can't  run  away 
with  this  kolodka  on  my  leg.  And  to-morrow  I'll 
make  you  a  bow  and  arrows." 

So  he  persuaded  the  lad  and  they  went  together. 
The  mountain  did  not  seem  far,  but  it  was  difficult 
going  with  the  kolodka;  he  went  on  and  on  and  it 
taxed  his  utmost  strength.  When  he  got  to  the 
summit  Zhilin  sat  down  to  take  a  good  look  at  '^e 
place.  To  the  south,  behind  the  outhou^,  w^s  a 
gully,  a  tabun*  was  roaming  along  there,  and  another 
aiil  was  visible  as  a  tiny  point.  Beyond  this  aul 
was  another  and  still  steeper  mountain,  and  behind 
this  mountain  yet  another.  Between  the  mountains 
was  the  blue  outline  of  a  wood,  and  there  could  be 
seen  other  mountains,  rising  higher  and  higher. 
And  higher  than  all,  as  white  as  sugar,  stood 
yet  other  mountains  covered  with  snow.  And  one 
snowy  mountain  with  a  cap  on  stood  out  higher  than 
all  the  rest.  On  the  east  and  on  the  west  were 
similar  mountains  ;  here  and  there  smoking  auls  could 

*  A  herd  of  horses. 
117 


Mope  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

be  seen  in  the  ravines.  "  Well,"  thought  Zhilin,  "  all 
that  is  their  part  of  the  country."  Then  he  began 
looking  towards  the  Russian  side — ^at  his  feet  were 
the  stream,  his  own  aid,  and  little  gardens  all  around. 
By  the  stream,  like  sO'  many  little  puppets,  the  women 
were  sitting  and  rinsing  clothes.  Behind  the  aid, 
somewhat  lower  down,  was  a  mountain  v/ith  two 
other  mountains  in  between,  and  after  that  came 
woods ;  and  between  the  two  mountains,  looking 
blue  in  the  distance,  was  a  level  space,  and  far,  far 
away  in  this  level  space  some  smoke  was  rising. 
Zhilin  tried  to  remember  where  the  sun  used  to  rise 
and  where  it  used  to  set  when  he  lived  at  home  in 
the  fortress.  And  then  he  saw  that  "  our  "*  fortress 
must  needs  be  on  that  very  plain.  Thither,  then^ 
between  the  two  mountains,  his  flight  must  lie. 

The  sun  was  beginning  to  set.  The  snow-covered 
m.ountains  turned  from  white  to  rosy  red ;  the  black 
miountains  greiw  darker ;  the  mist  began  to  ascend 
from  the  gullies,  and  that  very  valley  in  which  the 
Russian  fortress  needs  must  be  glowed  like  a  fire  in 
the  distant  West.  Zhilin  looked  steadily  in  that 
direction^ — ^something  was  dimly  visible  in  the  valley 
like  smoke  from  a  tube.  And  he  thought  to  himself 
that  must  be  the  Russian  fortress  itself. 

It  was  getting  late.  The  cry  of  the  mullah  could 
be  heard  from  where  they  were.  The  flocks  were 
being  driven  homewards,  the  cows  were  lowing.  The 
little  lad  kept  on  saying :  "  Let's  be  going !  "  but 
Zhilin  did  not  want  to  go. 

At  last,  however,  they  turned  homewards.     "  Well," 

*  I.e. — the  Russian  fortress. 

ii8 


The  Captive  in  the  Caucasus 

thought  ZhiHn,  "  at  any  rate  I  know  the  place  now, 
and  must  make  a  bolt  for  it."  He  would  have  liked 
to  have  escaped  that  very  night.  The  nights  just 
then  were  dark — ^the  moon  was  on  the  wane.  Un- 
fortunately, the  Tatars  returned  that  very  evening. 
They  used  to  come  in  driving  captured  cattle  before 
them  in  a  merry  mood ;  but  on  this  occasion  they 
drove  in  nothing  at  all,  and  brought  along  with  them 
on  his  saddle  a  slain  Tatar,  the  brother  of  the  red- 
bearded  Tatar.  They  arrived  very  wrathful,  and 
gathered  together  to  bury  their  comrade.  Zhilin  also 
came  out  to  see  what  was  going  on.  They  wrapped 
the  corpse  in  a  piece  of  cloth  without  a  coffin,  then 
they  placed  it  on  the  grass  in  the  middle  of  the 
village  under  a  plane-tree.  The  mullah  arrived,  and 
they  all  squatted  down  together  on  their  heels  in 
front  of  the  corpse. 

The  mullah  was  in  front,  behind  him  sat  the  three 
village  elders  in  their  turbans,  and  in  a  row  with  and 
behind  them  some  more  Tatars.  There  they  sat  with 
dejected  eyes  and  in  silence.  The  silence  lasted  for  a 
long  time,  and  then  the  mullah  raised  his  head  and 
spoke : 

"  Allah  !  "  he  said.  It  was  the  only  word  he  spoke 
— and  once  more  they  all  cast  down  their  eyes  and 
were  silent  for  a  long  time.  They  sat  there  without 
stirring.     Again  the  mullah  raised  his  voice ; 

"Allah!" 

"  Allah !  "  they  all  repeated,  and  were  again  silent. 
The  dead  man  was  lying  on  the  grass,  he  moved  not, 
and  they  all  sat  round  him  like  dead  men.  Not  one 
of  them  stirred.     The  only  thing  to  be  heard  was 

119 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

the  quivering  of  the  tiny  leaves  of  the  plane-tree 
in  the  light  breeze.  Then  the  mullah  recited  the 
prayer,  and  they  all  stood  up,  raised  the  dead  man, 
and  carried  him  away.  They  carried  him  to  the 
grave.  The  grave  was  not  simply  dug  out  but 
burrow^ed  underneath  the  ground  like  a  cellar.  They 
lifted  the  dead  man  beneath  the  shoulders  and  under 
the  legs,  bent  him  a  little  inwards,  and  slowly  let  him 
go,  thrusting  him  in  under  the  earth  in  a  sitting 
position,  and  pulling  his  arms  straight  down  close  to 
his  body. 

The  Nogaets  then  brought  green  rushes  and  filled 
up  the  hole  therewith,  strewed  it  with  fresh  earth, 
made  it  level,  and  placed  at  the  head  of  the  dead  man 
an  upright  stone.  Then  they  stamped  down  the 
earth,  again  sat  them  round  about  the  grave,  and  were 
for  a  long  time  silent 

"Allah!  Allah!  Allah!"  And  they  sighed 
deeply  and  stood  up. 

The  red-bearded  man  distributed  money  among 
the  elders,  then  he  arose,  took  up  his  short  whip, 
struck  his  forehead  three  times,   and  went  home. 

In  the  morning  Zhilin  saw  them  leading  a  fine  mare 
out  of  the  village  with  three  Tatars  following  behind. 
When  they  got  right  out  of  the  village,  the  red- 
bearded  Tatar  took  off  his  beshmet,  tucked  up  his 
sleeves — what  big  brawny  arms  he  had ! — drew  forth 
his  knife,  and  sharpened  it  on  a  bruska*  The  Tatars 
then  drew  forward  the  mare's  head,  and  the  red- 
bearded  man  came  forward  and  cut  her  throat,  flung  the 
mare  to  the  ground,  and  began  to  flay  her,  separating 

*  A  tetragonal  piece  of  sandstone. 
120 


The  Captive  in  the  Caucasus 

the  hide  from  the  flesh  with  his  huge  hands.  Then  the 
women  and  the  girls  came  up  and  began  to  wash  the 
entrails  and  the  inside.  After  that  they  cut  up  the 
mare  and  dragged  the  meat  into  the  hut.  And  the 
whole  village  came  together  at  the  house  of  the  red- 
bearded  man  to  cormnemorate  the  deceased. 

Three  days  they  ate  of  the  mare,  drank  buza,  and 
commemorated  the  deceased. 

All  the  Tatars  were  at  home  now,  but  on  the  fourth 
day  Zhilin,  after  dinner,  beheld  them  assembling  to 
go  somewhither.  They  brought  their  horses,  made 
ready,  and  went  off,  ten  men  in  all,  and  the  red- 
bearded  man  went  toO' — only  Abdul  remained-  at 
home.  There  was  a  nev/  moon  just  then,  and  the 
nights  were  still  pretty  dark. 

"  Now's  the  time,"  thought  Zhilin ;  "  now  we  must 
make  a  bolt  for  it."  He  spoke  to  Kostuilin  about 
it,  but  Kostuilin  was  afraid. 

"  How  can  we  run  away  ? — we  don't  know  the 
road !  "  said  he. 

''  I  know  the  road." 

"  But  we  shall  never  be  able  to  get  there  in  the  night" 

"  Suppose  we  don't,  surely  we  can  pass  the  night  in 
the  forest  ?  And  look !  I've  collected  some  hearth- 
cakes.  Why  do  you  waint  to  stick  here?  'Tis  easy 
enough  to  send  for  money,  but  you  see  they  haven't 
collected  it.  And  besides,  the  Tatars  are  angry  now 
because  the  Russians  have  killed  one  of  their  people. 
They  have  been  talking  together  about  killing  us 
likewise." 

Kostuilin  thought  and  thought  for  a  long  time. 

"  Very  well,  let  us  go !  "  said  he  at  last. 

121 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 


V. 


Zhilin  crept  into  his  hole  and  dug  still  deeper  in 
order  that  Kostuilin  also  might  be  able  to  creep 
through  it,  then  they  sat  down  and  waited  till  all  was 
quiet  in  the  a?^/. 

As  soon  as  all  the  people  in  the  atil  were  quiet, 
Zhilin  crept  under  the  wall  and  forced  his  way- 
through.     Then  he  whispered  to  Kostuilin : 

"  You  creep  through  too !  "  and  as  he  did  so  he 
loosed  a  stone,  which  made  a  great  noise.  Zhilin's 
master,  however,  had  placed  a  guard  at  the  door — 
a  piebald  dog,  a  vicious,  a  very  vicious  beast  His 
name  was  Ulyashin.  But  Zhilin  had  made  it  his 
business  regularly  to  feed  the  animal  for  some  time. 
As  soon  as  Ulyashin  heard  them  he  began  to  bark 
and  rushed  up,  and  after  him  all  the  other  dogs.  But 
Zhilin  just  whistled  to  him,  and  threw  him  a  bit  of 
hearth-cake.  Then  Ulyashin  recognised  him,  wagged 
his  tail,  and  ceased  to  bark. 

But  Zhilin's  master  had  heard,  and  he  now  began 
to  shout  from  out  of  the  saklya : 

"Hold  him!  hold  him,  Ulyashin!" 

Zhilin,  however,  was  busy  scratching  Ulyashin 
behind  the  ears,  and  the  dog  was  silent,  rubbed  him- 
self against  Zhilin's  legs,  and  wagged  his  tail. 

They  sat  down  behind  a  corner.  All  grew  quiet 
again.  All  that  could  be  heard  were  the  sheep 
shuffling  in  their  fold,  and  the  w^ater  below  bubbling 
over  the  stones.  It  was  dark.  The  stars  stood  high 
in  the  heavens,  the  young  red  moon  stood  over  the 

122 


The  Captive  in  the  Caucasus 

mountain  with  her  horns  pointed  upwards.     In  the 
valley  gleamed  a  milk-white  mist. 

Zhilin  arose,  and  said  to  his  comrade : 

"Now,  my  brother,  let's  be  off!  " 

Something  stirred  just  as  they  were  starting.  They 
stopped  to  listen.  The  mullah  was  chanting  on  the 
roof : 

''Allah!  Bismillah !  H'rakhman!"  which  signifies  : 
"  Come,  people,  to  the  Mosque  ! " 

They  sat  down  again,  squeezing  themselves  against 
the  wall.  Long  they  sat  there,  waiting  till  the  people 
should  have  gone  by.     Again  all  was  silent. 

"  Now,    then,    in  God's   name !  " 

They  crossed  themselves  and  set  out.  They  went 
through  the  courtyard,  down  the  steep  slope  to  the 
stream,  crossed  the  stream,  and  went  along  the  gully. 
The  mist  was  thick  and  stood  low,  and  over  their 
heads  the  stars  were  dimly,  tinily  visible.  Zhilin 
calculated  by  the  stars  which  way  he  ought  to  take. 
It  was  fresh  in  the  mist  and  easy  going,  but  their  boots 
were  in  their  way  and  made  them  stumble.  Zhilin 
took  his  off,  threw  them  away,  and  went  along  bare- 
footed. He  kept  leaping  from  rock  tO'  rock  and 
looking  at  the  stars.     Kostuilin  began  to  lag  behind. 

"  Go  more  quietly !  "  said  he  ;  "  these  cursed  boots 
of  mine ! — ^but  all  boots  fetter  one  so !  " 

"  Take  them  off,  then  !  You'll  find  it  easier 
going." 

Kostuilin  also  then  went  barefooted — and  found  it 
still  worse.  He  was  bruising  his  feet  continually  on 
the  stones,  and  kept  lagging  behind  more  than  ever. 

"  Lift  up  your  feet  more,  look  alive !  "  said  Zhilin, 

123 


Move  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

"  if  they  overtake  us  they'll  kill  us,  and  that  will  be 
worst  of  all." 

Kostuilin  said  nothing.  He  came  on  puffing  and 
blowing.  For  a  long  time  they  went  down  hill.  They 
listened — the  dogs  were  barking  on  their  right. 
Zhilin  stopped  and  looked  about  him.  He  went  to 
the  mountain-side  and  felt  it  with  his  hands. 

"  Oh !  "  said  he,  "  we  have  made  a  mistake ;  we 
turned  to  the  right.  Here  is  another  aul,  I  could  see 
it  from  the  mountain-top,  we  must  go  back — to  the 
left — up  the  mountain.  There  is  sure  to  be  a  road 
there." 

"  Just  wait  a  little,"  said  Kostuilin ;  "  do  give  me 
time  to  breathe  a  bit — my  feet  are  all  bloody." 

"  Look  alive,  my  brother !  Spring  a  little  more 
lightly — that's  the   whole  trick !  " 

And  Zhilin  ran  back  tO'  the  left  towards  the 
mountain  and  into  the  wood.  Kostuilin  remained  all 
behind,  groaning  and  gasping. 

Zhilin  kept  urging  him  to  be  quicker,  but  went  on 
himself  without  stopping. 

They  ascended  the  mountain.  Yes — there,  right 
enough,  was  the  wood.  They  entered  the  wood — 
and  all  that  was  left  of  their  clothing  was  quickly 
torn  to  bits.  Then  they  hit  upon  a  path  in  the  wood, 
and  went  steadily  on. 

Stop!  The  sound  of  hoofs  resounded  on  the 
road.  They  stopped  and  listened.  There  was  a 
stamping  as  of  a  horse,  and  then  it  stopped.  They 
m.oved  on  again — the  stamping  recommenced.  They 
stopped — and  the  stamping  stopped.  Zhilin  crept 
forward   and  looked   along  the   road   in  the  light — 

124 


The  Captive  in  the  Caucasus 

something-  was  standing  there.  It  was  a  horse,  and 
yet  not  a  horse,  and  on  the  horse  was  something  odd, 
not  resembling  a  man.  It  snorted — they  listened. 
"  What  monster  could  it  be  ?  "  Zhilin  whistled  very 
softly — it  scurried  off  the  path  into  the  forest,  and 
in  the  forest  there  was  a  crashing  sound — it  flew  like 
a  tempest,  breaking  down  the  branches  in  its  path. 

Kostuilin  almost  fell  to  the  ground  in  his  terror. 
But  Zhilin  laughed  and  said  : 

"  That  was  a  stag.  Hark  how  he  smashes  the 
wood  with  his  horns.     We  fear  him  and  he  fears  us." 

They  went  along  further.  Morning  was  now  close 
at  hand  Where  they  were  going,  however,  they 
knew  not.  It  seemed  to  Zhilin  as  if  the  Tatars  had 
brought  him  along  by  that  selfsame  path,  and  as  far 
as  he  could  make  it  out  they  had  still  some  ten  versts 
to  traverse  ;  but  there  were  no  certain  landmarks,  and 
it  was  night,  so  that  there  was  no  distinguishing  any- 
thing. Presently  they  came  out  upon  a  little  plain, 
and  Kostuilin  sat  down  and  said : 

"You  may  do  as  you  Hke,  but  I  shall  never  get 
there.     My  legs  won't  do  it." 

Zhilin  tried  tO'  persuade  him. 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  I  shan't  go  any  further — ^I  can't,  I 
tell  you." 

Zhilin  then  grew  angry.  He  spat  on  one  side  and 
bullied  his  comrade. 

"  Then  I'll  go  on  alone,"  said  he — "  good-bye !  " 

Then  Kostuilin  leaped  to  his  feet  and  went  on. 
They  now  went  on  for  four  miles.  The  mist  in  the 
forest  grew  still  thicker ;  they  could  see  nothing  in 
front  of  them,  and  the  stars  were  barely  visible. 


125 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

At  last  they  heard  something  Hke  the  tramphng 
of  a  horse  in  front  of  them.  They  could  hear  the 
hoofs  clattering  against  the  stones.  Zhilin  lay  down 
on  his  stomach  and  began  to  listen  with  his  ear  to 
the  ground. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  it  is  as  I  thought.  A  horseman 
is  coming  towards  us." 

They  quitted  the  road  in  haste,  sat  among  the 
bushes,  and  waited.  Zhilin  presently  crept  forward 
towards  the  road  and  saw  a  mounted  Tatar  coming 
along,  driving  a  cow  before  him,  and  muttering  to 
himself.  After  he  had  gone  Zhilin  turned  to  KostuiHn 
and  said  : 

"  He's  gone  by,  thank  God !  Get  up,  and  we'll  go 
on!" 

Kostuilin  tried  to  get  up  and  fell  down  again.  He 
was  a  heavy,  puffy  fellow,  and  began  to  sweat 
profusely.  The  cold  mist  of  the  forest,  too,  had 
given  him  a  chill,  his  feet  were  lacerated,  and  he  went 
all  to  pieces.  When  Zhilin  raised  him  to  his  feet 
with  an  effort  he  cried  out : 

"Oh!  it  hurts!" 

Zhilin  almost  had  a  fit 

"  What  are  you  screeching  for !  The  Tatars  are 
quite  close  to  us — don't  you  hear  ?  "  But  he  thought 
to  himself:  "  He  really  is  almost  done  for;  what  am 
I  to  do  with  him  ?  One  can't  chuck  a  comrade,  it 
wouldn't  be  right" 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  get  up  on  my  back,  I'll  carry 
you  if  you  really  can't  walk  yourself." 

So  he  put  Kostuilin  on  his  shoulders,  gripped  him 
under  the  knees,  took  the  road  again,  and  staggered 
along. 

126 


The  Captive  in  the  Caucasus 

"  Only,  my  good  fellow,"  said  he,  "  don't  grip  me 
round  the  throat,  but  lay  hold  of  my  shoulders." 

It  was  a  heavy  load  for  Zhilin.  His  feet  also  were 
all  bloody,  and  he  was  tired  tO'  death.  He  felt 
crushed,  tried  to  get  into  an  easier  position,  hitched 
his  shoulder  so  as  to  get  Kostuilin  tO'  sit  higher — and 
flung  him  into  the  road. 

It  was  quite  plain  that  the  Tatar  had  heard  Kostuilin 
yell,  for  as  Zhilin  listened  he  could  hear  someone 
coming  back  and  making  a  peculiar  cry.  Zhilin  flung 
himself  into  the  bushes.  The  Tatar  seized  his  musket, 
fired  it,  hit  nothing,  whined  in  Tatar  fashion,  and 
galloped  down  the  road  again. 

"  Well,  my  brother,  he  has  gone  an)^vay,"  said 
Zhilin  ;  "  but  the  dog  will  at  once  collect  all  the  Tatars 
he  can  find  and  pursue  us.  If  we  don't  do  our  three 
miles,  we're  done  for."  But  he  thought  to  himself : 
"  What  devil  put  it  into  my  head  to  take  this  block- 
head with  me  !  Had  I  been  alone  I  should  have 
got  off  long  ago." 

"You  go  on  alone,"  said  Kostuilin,  "why  should 
you  come  to  grief  all  through  me  ?  " 

"  Nay,  I  will  not  go  alone,  it  is  wrong  to  desert  a 
comrade." 

So  he  took  him  on  his  shoulders  again  and  went 
on.  And  in  this  way  he  covered  a  mile.  The  forest 
stretched  right  on,  and  there  was  no  sign  of  an  exit. 
The  mist  was  beginning  to  disperse,  and  little  clouds 
— or  so  they  seemed — ^fared  along,  the  stars  were 
no  longer  visible.     Zhilin  Vv^as  puzzled. 

A  spring,  set  among  rocks,  crossed  the  road,  and 
here  Zhilin  stopped  and  set  down  Kostuilin. 


127 


li 


I 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

"Let's  have  a  rest,"  said  he,  "and  give  me 
breathing-time.  I  want  a  drink,  too,  and  we'll  have 
some  hearth-cakes.     It  can't  be  much  further  now." 

No  sooner  had  he  drunk  his  fill,  however,  than  he 
heard  the  trampling  of  hoofs  behind.  Once  more 
they  crept  among  the  bushes  on  the  right,  beneath 
the  steep  cliff,  and  lay  at  full  length. 

Soon  they  heard  the  voices  of  the  Tatars,  and  the 
Tatars  stopped  at  the  very  spot  whence  they  had 
turned  off  from  the  road.  They  talked  a  good  deal 
amongst  themselves^  and  then  they  began  to  put  upon 
the  scent  the  dogs  they  had  brought  with  them.  Zhilin 
and  his  comrade  listened.  There  was  a  crashing  of 
branches  in  the  thicket,  and  straight  towards  them 
came  a  strange  dog.  When  he  saw  them  he  stood 
still  and  began  barking. 

Then  the  Tatars  also  crept  through  the  bushes — 
they  were  strange  Tatars  whom  they  hadn't  seen 
before — and  the  Tatars  seized  them,  bound  them, 
put  them  on  horseback,  and  led  them  off. 

They  went  along  for  about  three  miles,  and  then 
they  met  Zhilin's  master,  Abdul,  and  two  other  Tatars. 
These  said  something  to  the  strange  Tatars,  trans- 
ferred the  captives  to  their  own  horses,  and  brought 
them  back  to  the  aul. 

Abdul  laughed  no  longer,  and  said  not  a  single 
word  to  them. 

They  brought  them  into  the  aul  at  break  of  day, 
and  set  them  down  in  the  public  street.  The  children 
came  running  up  and  beat  them  with  stones  and  whips 
and  jeered  at  them. 

The  Tatars  gathered  together  in  a  circle,  and  the 

128 


The  Captive  in  the  Caucasus 

elder  from  the  mountain-side  joined  them.  They 
began  talking,  and  Zhilin  understood  that  they  were 
trying  them  and  debating  what  was  to  be  done  with 
them.  Some  said  they  should  be  sent  further  away 
into  the  mountains,  but  the  elder  said  that  they  ought 
to  be  killed.  Abdul,  however,  objected  to  this.  "  I 
have  paid  money  for  them,"  said  he,  "  and  I  am  going 
to  get  a  ransom  for  them." 

"  They'll  never  pay  anything  at  all,"  replied  the 
old  man,  "  but  will  only  do  harm.  It's  a  sin  to  feed 
Russians.    Kill  them  and  have  done  with  it !  " 

Then  they  separated,  and  Zhilin's  master  came  to 
him  and  began  to  talk  to  him. 

"  If  they  don't  send  me  your  ransom  in  a  fortnight," 
said  he,  "  I'll  whip  you  to  death,  and  if  you  try  to 
run  away  a  second  time  I'll  kill  you  like  dogs.  Write 
a  letter,  and  mind  you  write  a  good  one !  " 

Paper  was  brought  and  they  wrote  the  letter.  Then 
the  kolodki  were  fastened  to  them  again,  and  they 
were  taken  to  the  mosque.  Here  there  was  a  hole 
in  the  earth  five  ar shins  long,  and  into  this  hole  they 
were  cast. 


VI. 

Their  life  was  now  hard  indeed.  Their  kolodki 
were  never  taken  off,  and  they  were  never  allowed 
a  breath  of  fresh  air.  The  Tatars  flung  them  bits  of 
uncooked  dough  as  if  they  were  dogs,  and  filled  for 
them  a  pitcher  of  water  from  time  to  time. 

The  heat  of  the  hole  was  stifling,  and  it  was  damp 
and  stinking.     Kostuilin  became  downright  ill.     His 

129  I 


I 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

limbs  swelled  and  twitched  all  over,  and  he  groaned 
continually  except  when  he  was  asleep.  Zhilin  also 
was  dejected  ;  he  saw  they  were  in  evil  case,  and  how 
to  get  out  of  it  he  had  no  idea. 

He  would  have  begun  undermining  again,  but  there 
was  nowhere  to  hide  the  earth,  and  then,  too,  his 
master  had  threatened  to  kill  him. 

One  day  he  was  squatting  in  the  hole  thinking  of 
life  and  liberty,  and  he  felt  very  miserable.  Suddenly 
right  upon  his  knees  fell  a  hearth-cake,  and  then 
another,  followed  by  quite  a  shower  of  wild  cherries. 
He  looked  up  and  there  was  Dina  She  gazed  at 
him,  laughed  a  little,  and  ran  away.  "  Now  I  wonder 
if  Dina  would  help  us,"  thought  Zhilin. 

He  cleaned  a  little  corner  of  the  hole,  dug  out 
a  bit  of  clay,  and  made  cut  of  it  a  lot  of  puppets. 
He  made  men  and  women,  horses  and  dogs,  and 
thought  to  himself,  "When  Dina  comes  I'll  fling 
them  out  to  her." 

But  on  the  next  day  there  was  no  Dina,  and  Zhilin 
heard  the  trampling  of  horses  and  the  noise  of  people 
passing  to  and  fro,  and  he  could  hear  that  the  Tatars 
had  assembled  at  the  mosque  and  were  disputing 
and  screeching  and  consulting  about  the  Russians. 
And  he  also  heard  the  voice  of  the  old  man  of  the 
mountain.  He  could  not  make  out  very  well  what 
was  going  on,  but  he  guessed  that  the  Russians  were 
drawing  near,  and  the  Tatars  were  afraid  they  might 
come  to  the  aul  and  find  out  what  was  being  done 
with  the  captives. 

The  Tatars  debated  together  and  then  departed. 
Suddenly  Zhilin  heard  a  slight  noise  above  his  head. 

130 


The  Captive  in  the  Caucasus 

He  looked  up,  and  there  was  Dina  squatting  on  her 
haunches  with  her  knees  hunched  up  higher  than  her 
head ;  she  was  leaning  forward,  her  necklaces  were 
visible,  and  were  swinging  to  and  fro  right  over  the 
hole.  Her  little  eyes  gleamed  like  tiny  stars,  and 
she  drew  out  of  her  sleeve  two  cheese-cakes  and 
threw  them  to  hinL 

Zhilin  took  them  and  said ;  "  Why  have  you 
been  so  long  gone  ?  I  have  been  making  playthings  for 
you.  Look !  "  And  he  began  to  fling  them  to  her 
one  by  one. 

But  she  shook  her  head  and  would  not  look  at 
them.  "  I  don't  want  'em,"  she  said.  She  sat  silent 
for  a  while,  and  then  she  said,  ''  Ivan,  they  want  to 
kill  thee,"  and  she  drew  her  hand  across  her  throat. 

"  Who  wants  to  kill  me?  " 

"  Father,  the  elders  have  bidden  him  do  it.  But 
I'm  sorry  for  thee." 

"  If  you  are  sorry  for  me,"  said  Zhilin,  "  bring  me 
a  long  pole." 

She  shook  her  head  to  signify  that  it  was  im- 
possible. He  put  together  his  hands  and  besought 
her. 

"  Dina,  I  pray  thee  do  it !  Dear  Httle  Dina,  bring 
it  to  me !  " 

"  Impossible,"  said  she,  "  they  are  all  at  home,  you 
see !  "  and  off  she  ran. 

So  Zhilin  sat  there  all  the  evening  and  thought : 
"  What  will  come  of  it,  I  wonder  ?  "  He  kept  looking 
up  all  the  time.  The  stars  were  visible,  but  the 
moon  had  not  yet  risen.  The  mullah's  shrill  cry  was 
heard — and    then    all   was   silent.      Zhilin  began  to 

131 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

grow  drowsy.  "Plainly,  the  girl  is  afraid,"  he 
thought. 

Suddenly  a  piece  of  clay  plumped  down  on  his 
head.  He  looked  up — a  long  pole  was  thrust  into  a 
corner  of  the  hole.  It  waggled  about,  descended 
gradually,  and  began  to  work  its  way  into  the  hole. 
Zhilin  was  delighted.  He  caught  hold  of  it  and  drew 
it  in — it  was  a  good  strong  pole.  He  had  noticed 
this  pole  some  time  before  on  the  roof  of  his  master's 
home. 

He  looked  up  again.  The  stars  were  shining  high 
in  the  heavens,  and  right  above  the  hole  the  eyes  of 
Dina  shone  as  brightly  as  the  eyes  of  a  cat  in  the 
darkness.  She  leaned  forward  over  the  mouth  of 
the  hole  and  whispered : 

"  Ivan !  Ivan !  "  and  she  kept  on  making  signs  and 
drawing  her  hands  repeatedly  over  her  face  by  way  of 
saying :   "  Hush !  be  quiet !  " 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Zhilin. 

"  They  have  all  gone,  there  are  only  two  at  home." 

"  Well,  Kostuilin,  let  us  go,"  said  Zhilin,  "  we  will 
try  for  the  last  time.     I'll  help  you  to  get  out  of  it." 

But  Kostuilin  wouldn't  even  hear  of  it. 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  it's  quite  plain  that  I  can't  manage 
it.  I  have  not  the  strength  to  go  quickly,  whichever 
way  we  go.'* 

"  Farewell  then !  and  think  no  ill  of  me  for  leaving 
you !  "     And  he  embraced  Kostuilin. 

Then  he  seized  the  pole,  bade  Dina  hold  it  firm, 
and  began  to  creep  up  it.  Once  or  twice  he  fell 
down — the  kolodka  hampered  him.  Kostuilin  then 
supported  him,  and  he  worked  his  way  some  distance 

132 


The  Captive  in  the  Caucasus 

up.  Dina  dragged  away  at  his  shirt  with  her  little 
hands  with  all  her  might,  laughing  all  the  time,  but 
it  was  no  good. 

Then  Zhilin  laid  hold  of  the  pole  with  both  hands. 

"Pull  it,  Dina!"  he  cried,  "seize  hold  of  it  well, 
and  you'll  see  it  will  almost  come  to  you  of  its  own 
accord." 

She  pulled  away  at  the  pole  accordingly,  and 
presently  Zhilin  found  himself  up  at  the  mountain's- 
side.  He  crept  down  the  steep  declivity,  seized  a 
sharp  stone,  and  tried  hard  to  force  the  lock  of  the 
kolodka.  But  the  lock  was  a  strong  one,  by  no  means 
could  he  break  it,  and  yet  he  was  not  unskilful. 
Then  he  heard  somone  running  down  the  mountain- 
side and  leaping  lightly  along.  "  That  must  be  Dina 
again,"  thought  Zhilin.  And  Dina  it  was.  Up  she 
came  running,  took  up  a  large  stone,  and  said  : 

"  Give  it  me !  " 

She  squatted  down  on  her  little  knees,  and  began 
to  try  her  hand  at  it.  But  her  little  arms,  as  thin  as 
twigs,  had  no  strength  in  them,  and  she  threw  away 
the  stone  and  burst  into  tears.  Then  Zhilin  himself 
had  another  try  at  the  lock  while  Dina  sat  down 
beside  him,  leaning  against  his  shoulder.  Zhilin 
glanced  round  and  saw  on  the  left  side  of  the 
mountain  a  burning  red  reflection — the  moon  was 
rising.  "  Well,"  thought  he,  "  before  the  moon  rises 
I  must  make  my  way  through  the  gully  and  get  to 
the  wood."  He  rose  and  threw  away  the  stone. 
Kolodka  or  no — go  he  must. 

"  Good-bye,  little  Dina,"  said  he ;  "I  shall  always 
remember  thee." 

133 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

Dina  seized  him,  and  began  to  fumble  about  his 
sleeves  to  see  if  she  could  find  a  place  wherein  to  stuff 
some  pancakes.     He  took  the  pancakes. 

"  Thanks,  my  wise  little  womctn,"  said  he ;  "  who 
will  make  dolls  for  thee  when  I  am  gone,  I  wonder?" 
And  he  stroked  her  head. 

How  bitterly  Dina  wept !  Finally  she  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands  and  ran  away  up  the  mountain 
like  a  wild  kid.  The  clattering  of  the  coins  in  the 
long  tresses  of  hair  hanging  down  her  back  was 
audible  in  the  darkness. 

Zhilin  crossed  himself,  seized  the  lock  of  the 
kolodka  so  as  not  to  stumble  as  he  went,  and 
hobbled  along  the  road,  gazing  constantly  at  the 
reflection  of  light  where  the  moon  was  rising.  He 
knew  the  road.  He  had  to  go  straight  on  for  about 
eight  miles.  If  only  he  could  get  to  the  forest  before 
the  moon  had  quite  risen  !  He  crossed  the  stream — 
the  light  behind  the  mountain  was  growing  brighter. 
He  passed  through  the  gully.  On  he  went,  glancing 
upwards  from  time  to  time — still  the  moon  was  not 
visible.  The  burning  reflection  was  increasing,  and 
everything  on  one  side  of  the  gully  was  growing 
brighter  and  brighter.  A  shadow  was  creeping  along 
the  mountain  and  coming  nearer  and  nearer  to  him. 

Zhilin  went  on  and  on,  and  the  shadows  still  con- 
tinued to  advance.  He  hastened  on,  and  the  moon 
was  working  her  way  out  even  more  quickly  than 
he  had  anticipated,  to  the  right  the  tops  of  the  trees 
were  already  lit  up.  He  was  now  close  to  the  forest 
when  the  moon  burst  forth  from  behind  the  mountain 
— everything  was  as  light  and   bright   as  if  it  were 

134 


The  Captive  in  the  Caucasus 

day.  Every  little  leaf  on  every  little  tree  was  visible. 
It  was  quite  quiet  on  the  lit-up  mountain-sides  as  if 
everything  had  died  out  of  existence.  The  only 
thing  to  be  heard  was  the  gurgling  of  the  stream 
below. 

He  reached  the  forest  without  anything  happening. 
Zhilin  chose  the  darkest  spot  he  could  find  in  the 
forest,  and  there  he  sat  down  to  rest. 

After  recovering  his  breath,  he  ate  a  hearth-cake. 
Then  he  took  a  stone,  and  again  set  about  battering 
the  kolodka.  He  battered  it  with  all  the  strength 
of  his  arm,  and  he  could  not  break  it.  He  arose  and 
went  along  the  road.  He  went  for  a  mile,  got 
thoroughly  exhausted — his  legs  tottered  beneath  him. 
Ten  steps  more  he  took,  and  then  he  stopped  short. 

"  It's  no  use,"  said  he ;  "  all  I  can  do  is  to  drag 
myself  on  as  long  as  I  have  the  strength  to  do  so.  If 
once  I  sit  down  I  shall  not  get  up  again.  I  can  never 
get  to  the  fortress  to-day,  but  as  soon  as  it  is  dawn 
I  will  lie  up  in  the  forest  and  at  night  V\\  go  on 
again." 

All  night  he  went  along.  The  only  people  he 
encountered  were  two  mounted  Tatars,  and  as  he 
saw  them  at  a  distance,  he  was  able  to  hide  away 
from  them  behind  a  tree. 

The  moon  had  already  begun  to  wane,  the  dew  was 
falling,  it  was  close  upon  dawn,  and  still  Zhilin 
had  not  got  to  the  end  of  the  forest.  "  Well,"  thought 
he,  "just  thirty  steps  more,  and  then  I'll  turn  into 
the  forest  and  sit  down."  He  took  the  thirty  steps, 
and  saw  that  the  forest  was  conmig  to  an  end.  He 
went  out  to  the  very  end  of  ^^^'here,  quite  bright 

135 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

before  him,  as  if  on  the  palm  of  his  hands,  lay  the 
steppe  and  the  fortress,  and  to  the  left,  quite  close 
under  the  mountain-side,  camp-fires  were  burning 
and  smoking,  and  people  were  standing  round  the 
smouldering  logs. 

He  gazed  fixedly,  and  saw  cossacks — soldiers — 
and  glistening  arms. 

Zhilin>  full  of  joy,  rallied  his  last  remaining 
strength,  and  prepared  to  descend  the  mountain-side. 

"  God  grant,"  thought  he,  "  that  a  mounted  Tatar 
may  not  see  me  in  the  open  plain,  although  I'm  pretty 
near  now,  I'm  not  there  yet." 

And  the  thought  was  no  sooner  in  his  head,  when 
behold!  on  a  little  mound  ^tood  three  Tatars,  about 
two  furlongs  off.  They  saw  him — and  dashed  after 
him.  His  heart  absolutely  died  away  within  him. 
Then  he  waved  his  arms  and  shouted  with  all  the 
breath  he  had  in  his  body  : 

"  My  brothers !  my  brothers !  save  me !  " 

Our  fellows  heard  him,  and  some  mounted  Cossacks 
galloped  forward.  They  made  for  him  in  an  oblique 
direction  to  cut  off  the  Tatars. 

The  Cossacks  were  far  off,  the  Tatars  were  near, 
but  now  Zhilin  rallied  all  his  strength,  seized  his 
kolodka^  and  ran  towards  the  Cossacks,  no  longer 
remembering  who  he  was,  but  crossing  himself  and 
crying  continually : 

*'  Brothers  !  brothers  !  brothers  !  " 

The  Cossacks  were  about  fifteen  in  number. 

The  Tatars  grew  frightened — instead  of  drawing 
nearer  they  reined  in  their  horses.  And  Zhilin  ran 
right  into  the  Cossacks. 

136 


The  Captive  in  the  Caucasus 

The  Cossacks  surrounded  him,  and  asked  him  who 
he  was  and  whence  he  came.  But  ZhiHn  no  longer 
recollected  who  he  was,  and  burst  out  crying,  babbling 
all  the  time : 

"Brothers!  brothers!" 

The  regular  soldiers  next  came  running  out,  and 
crowded  round  Zhilin.  One  of  them  offered  him 
bread,  another  broth,  a  third  covered  him  with  a 
mantle,  a  fourth  broke  up  the  kolodka. 

The  officers  presently  recognised  him,  and  con- 
ducted him  to  the  fortress.  The  soldiers  were 
delighted,  and  his  comrades  gathered  round  Zhilin. 

Zhilin  told  them  all  that  had  happened  to  him,  and 
said : 

"  You  see,  I  was  going  home  to  be  married.  But 
no ! — ^that  is  not  to  be  my  fate  evidently !  " 

And  so  he  continued  tO'  serve  in  the  Caucasus. 

As  for  Kostuilin,  they  only  ransomed  him  three 
months  later  for  five  thousand  roubles.  They 
brought  him  in  barely  alive. 


137 


III.— HATRED  IS  SWEET,  BUT  GOD  IS  STRONG 

In  the  olden  time  there  lived  a  good  master.  He  had 
much  of  everything,  and  many  slaves  served  him. 
And  the  slaves  praised  their  master.  They  said : 
"  There  is  no  master  better  than  our  master  under 
heaven.  He  clothes  and  feeds  us  well,  and  gives  us 
work  to  do  according  to  our  strength ;  he  offends  none 
by  word  of  mouth,  and  bears  no  grudge  for  anything. 
He  is  not  like  other  masters  who  torment  their  slaves 
and  treat  them  worse  than  cattle,  and  punish  them 
whether  they  commit  faults  or  not,  and  have  not  a  good 
word  to  say  to  them.  Our  master  has  our  welfare  at 
heart,  and  does  good  to  us,  and  speaks  well  to  us. 
We  want  no  better  life  than  the  life  we  lead." 

Thus  did  the  slaves  praise  their  master.  And  the 
Devil  was  wroth  because  the  slaves  lived  so  well,  and 
in  all  loving-kindness  with  their  master.  And  the 
Devil  took  possession  of  one  of  the  slaves  of  this 
master,  whose  name  was  Aleb.  He  took  possession 
of  him,  and  bade  him  offend  the  other  slaves.  And 
when  the  other  slaves  were  resting  from  their  labours 
and  praising  their  master,  Aleb  also  lifted  up  his 
voice  and  said : 

"  Vainly  do  ye  praise  the  goodness  of  our  master, 
my  brethren.     Try  and  please   the   Devil,   and   the 

138 


Hatred  is  Sweet,  but  God  is  Strong 

Devil  will  do  you  good.  We  serve  our  master  well, 
we  please  him  in  everything.  Whatever  he  fancies 
that  we  do  for  him,  we  anticipate  his  thoughts.  How 
can  he  help  being  good  to  us?  But  just  cease  to 
please,  and  do  him  evil,  then  you'll  find  he'll  be  like 
all  the  rest  of  them,  and  will  render  evil  for  evil  even 
worse  than  the  bad  masters  do." 

And  the  other  slaves  began  to  dispute  with  Aleb. 
And  they  disputed  and  laid  a  wager  together.  And 
Aleb  undertook  to  provoke  the  good  master  to  anger. 
He  undertook  to  do  so  on  this  condition  :  that  if  he 
did  not  provoke  him  to  anger  he  should  lose  his 
festival  garment,  but  if  he  did  provoke  him  to  anger 
they  promised  that  each  one  of  them  should  give  him 
his  festival  garment ;  and  besides  that  they  promised 
to  defend  him  against  his  master,  and  if  he  put  him 
in  irons  or  thrust  him  into  a  dungeon  they  said  they 
would  loose  him.  So  they  laid  their  wager,  and  the 
next  morning  Aleb  promised  to  provoke  his  master 
to  anger. 

Aleb  served  his  master  in  the  sheep-folds  and  took 
charge  of  the  costly  breeding  rams.  And  behold !  in 
the  morning,  when  the  good  master  came  to  the 
sheep-folds  with  his  guests  and  began  to  show  them 
his  dear  and  precious  rams,  the  Devil's  labourer  signi- 
fied to  his  comrades :  "  Look  now,  I'll  provoke  my 
master  to  anger  instantly."  All  the  slaves  assembled. 
They  looked  through  doors  and  over  fences,  and  the 
Devil  ran  up  a  tree,  and  looked  down  from  thence 
into  the  yard  to  see  how  his.  servant  would  serve 
him.  The  master  entered  the  yard  and  showed  his 
guests  his  sheep  and  his  lambs,  and  wanted  to  show 

139 


IVIore  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

them   his  best  ram,      "  The  other  rams  are  good," 
said  he,  "  but  this  is  one  with  strong  horns ;  he  is 
priceless,   and  more   precious   to    me  than  my  own 
eyes."     The  sheep  and  rams  rushed  about  the  yard 
because   of   the   people,    and   the  guests  could  not 
distinguish    the    precious    rctm   amongst    them.     No 
sooner    did    this   ram   stand    still    than    the    Devil's 
labourer,  as  if  by  accident,  scared  the  sheep,  and  again 
they  were  all  intermingled.     The  guests  could  not 
distinguish    the   ram  thajt   was   priceless.      And  the 
master  began  to  be  wearied.     "  Aleb,  my  dear  friend," 
said  he,  "  see  thou  to  this  !     Catch  the  best  ram  with 
the    strong  horns  very  warily  and   hold  him   fast." 
And  no  sooner  had  the  master  said  this  than  Aleb 
flung  himself  like  a  lion  in  the  middle  of  the  lambs 
and  sheep,  and  seized  the  priceless  ram  by  his  shorn 
fleece.      He   seized    it     by    the    shorn    fleece,    and 
immediately  clasped  it  round  its  left  hind  leg  with 
one   of    his   hands,    lifted    it    up,   and    right    before 
the  very  eyes  of  his  master,  tugged  the  leg  violently 
upwards,    and    it   snapped    like   the   peeled    branch 
of  a  young  linden-tree.     Aleb  had  broken  the  leg 
of  the  good  ram  below  the  knee.     The  ram  began 
to  bleat,  and  fell  down    on   its  front   knees.      Aleb 
seized  it  by  the  right  leg,  and  the  left  leg  turned 
inwards  and    hung   down    like   a  short   whip.      The 
guests  and  all    the   slaves  groaned,   and   the    Devil 
rejoiced  when  he  saw  how  cleverly  Aleb  had  done 
his  deed.     The  master  turned  as  black  as  .night,  he 
frowned,  cast  down  his  head,  and  said  not  a  word. 
The  guests  and  the  slaves  -were  silent.     They  wanted 
to  see  what  would  happen.     The  master  was  silent 

140 


Hatred  is  Sweet,  but  God  is  Strong 

for  a  time,  then  he  shook  himself  as  if  he  wanted  to 
shake  off  something,  raised  his  head,  and  fixed  his 
eyes  on  heaven.  Not  long  did  he  look,  his  wrinkles 
disappeared  from  his  face,  and  he  smiled  and  cast 
his  eyes  upon  Aleb.  He  looked  at  Aleb,  smiled, 
and  said : 

"  Oh,  Aleb,  Aleb !  thy  master  bade  thee  anger 
me.  But  my  master  is  stronger  than  thine,  and  thou 
hast  not  angered  me,  but  I  have  angered  thy  master. 
Thou  didst  fear  that  I  would  punish  thee,  and  thou 
didst  wish  to  be  free,  Aleb ;  know,  therefore,  that  I 
will  not  punish  thee,  but  as  thou  didst  desire  thy 
freedom,  look  now!  in  the  presence  of  my  guests  I 
release  thee,  thou  art  free  tO'  follow  thine  own  will. 
Depart  whithersoever  thou  wilt,  to  the  four  corners 
of  the  earth,  and  take  thy  festival  garment  with 
thee !  " 

And  the  good  master  went  home  with  his  guests. 
But  the  Devil  gnashed  his  teeth,  glided  down  the 
tree,  and  vanished  through  the  earth. 


141 


IV.— ELIAS 

There  dwelt  once  upon  a  time  in  the  Ufimsk 
government  a  Bashkir  named  Elias.  The  father 
of  Elias  had  left  him  a  poor  man.  His  father  had 
only  gotten  him  a  wife  a  year  before,  and  then  died. 
In  those  days  Elias  owned  seven  mares,  two  cows, 
and  twice  ten  sheep.  But  Elias  was  now  the  master, 
and  began  to  spread  himself  out ;  from  morn  to  eve 
he  laboured  with  his  wife,  rose  up  earlier  and  lay 
down  later  than  all  other  men,  and  grew  richer  every 
year.  Five-and-thirty  years  did  Elias  continue  to 
labour,  and  won  for  himself  great  possessions. 

Elias  now  had  two  hundred  head  of  horses,  a 
hundred  and  fifty  head  of  horned  cattle,  and  one 
thousand  two  hundred  sheep.  Many  men-servants 
pastured  the  tabuns^  and  the  herds  of  Elias,  and 
many  maid-servants  milked  the  mares  and  the  cows 
and  made  kumis,  butter  and  cheese.  Elias  had  much 
of  everything,  and  everybody  round  about  envied  the 
life  of  Elias.  People  said  :  "  Ah,  what  a  lucky  fellow 
that  Elias  is !  He  has  everything  in  abundance,  he 
has  no  need  to  die."  And  good  people  began  to 
know  Elias  and  make  his  acquaintance.  And  guests 
came  to  him  from  afar.     And  Elias  welcomed  them 

*  Studs  of  horses. 
142 


Elias 

all,  and  gave  them  to  eat  and  to  drink.  Whosoever 
came  to  him  found  abundance  of  kumis,  and  tea,  and 
sherbet,  and  the  flesh  of  rams.  Whenever  guests 
came  a  ram  or  two  was  immediately  killed,  and  if 
there  were  many  guests  they  killed  a  mare. 

Elias  had  three  children — two  sons  and  a  daughter. 
Elias  had  provided  his  sons  with  wives,  and  had 
given  his  daughter  in  marriage.  While  Elias  was 
poor  his  sons  had  worked  with  him  and  guarded  the 
herds  and  the  tabuns  themselves,  but  when  the  sons 
became  rich  they  began  to  amuse  themselves,  and 
one  of  them  took  to  drink.  One  of  them — the  eldest 
— was  presently  killed  in  a  brawl,  and  the  younger 
son  fell  into  the  power  of  a  stuck-up  wife,  and  this 
son  no  longer  listened  to  his  father,  and  Elias  had  to 
give  him  his  portion  and  get  rid  of  him. 

So  Elias  paid  him  out  and  gave  him  a  house  and 
cattle,  and  the  riches  of  Elias  were  diminished.  And 
shortly  after  this  a  disease  fell  upon  the  sheep  of 
Elias,  and  many  of  them  perished.  And  then  came 
a  year  of  scarceness — no  hay  would  grow — and  many 
cattle  starved  in  the  winter.  Then  the  Kirghiz  came 
and  stole  the  best  part  of  the  horses,  and  the  estate 
of  Elias  diminished  still  further.  Elias  began  to  fall 
lower  and  lower,  and  his  natural  forces  were  less. 
And  when  he  had  reached  his  seventieth  year  things 
came  to  such  a  pass  that  he  began  to  sell  his  furs, 
his  carpets,  his  kibitki,^  and  then  he  began  to  sell 
his  cattle,  down  to  the  very  last  one ;  and  so  Elias 
came  to  nought.  And  he  himself  perceived  that  he 
had  nothing  left,  and  he  was  obliged  in  his  old  age 

*  A  covered  wagon. 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

to  go  with  his  wife  to  1  ive  among  the  common  people. 
And  the  only  things  which  Elias  could  now  call  his 
own  were  the  clothes  he  had  on  his  body,  his  fur 
cloak,  his  hat,  and  his  shoes  ;  and  his  wife,  Shem 
Shemagi,  was  also  an  old  woman.  The  son  whom 
he  had  bought  off  departed  into  a  distant  land,  and 
his  daughter  died.  And  there  was  none  to  help  the 
old  folks. 

Their  neighbour,  Muhamedshah,  pitied  the  old 
folks.  He  himself  was  neither  rich  nor  poor,  but 
lived  at  his  ease,  and  he  was  a  good  man.  He 
remembered  that  he  had  eaten  bread  and  salt  with 
Elias,  and  he  was  filled  with  compassion  and  said 
to  Elias : 

''Come  to  me,  Elias,  and  live  with  me  along 
with  thine  old  woman.  In  the  summer  thou  shalt 
work  for  me  according  to  thy  strength  in  the 
melon  fields,  ^nd  in  the  winter  thou  shalt  feed  my 
cattle  and  let  Shem  Shemagi  milk  the  cows  and 
make  kumis.  I  will  feed  and  clothe  you  both,  and 
whatever  ye  may  want  tell  it  me  and  I  will  give  it 
you." 

Elias  thanked  his  neighbour  and  dwelt  with  his 
wife  in  the  house  of  Muhamedshah  as  one  of  his 
servants.  At  first  it  seemed  grievous  to  them,  but 
soon  they  grew  accustomed  to  it,  and  the  old  people 
continued  to  live  there  and  work  according  to  their 
strength. 

It  was  profitable  to  the  master  to  have  such  people, 
for  the  old  folks  had  themselves  been  masters  and 
knew  how  things  should  be  rightly  ordered,  and 
were  not  idle  but  worked  according  to  their  ability  ; 

144 


Elias 

the  only  thing  which  grieved  Muhamedshah  was  to 
see  people  who  had  been  so  high  fall  to  such  a  low 
estate. 

And  it  chanced  one  day  that  distant  relations 
came  as  guests  to  Muhamedshah,  and  a  Mullah 
came  also.  And  Muhamedshah  bade  Elias  take  a 
ram  and  slay  it.  Elias  skinned  the  ram  and  cooked 
itj  and  set  it  before  the  guests.  The  guests  ate  the 
ram's  flesh,  drank  as  much  tea  as  they  wanted,  and 
then  fell  a-drinking  kumis.  The  guests  sat  with 
their  host  on  down  cushions  on  the  floor  and  drank 
their  kumis  out  of  little  cups,  and  conversed  together, 
and  Elias  went  about  his  work  and  passed  by  the 
door  where  they  were  sitting. 

Muhamedshah  saw  him  and  said  to  one  of  his 
guests  :  "  Didst  thou  see  that  old  man  who  passed 
by  my  door  ?  " 

"  I  saw  him,"  said  the  guest ;  "  is  there  anything 
extraordinary  about  him  ?  " 

"  There  is  this  much  extraordinary  about  him — 
that  he  was  once  upon  a  time  our  richest  man — Elias 
they  called  him  ;  perchance  thou  hast  heard  concern- 
ing him  ?  " 

"  How  could  I  help  hearing  of  him  ? "  replied  the 
guest;  "seen  it  all  I  have  not,  but  the  fame  of  him 
was  spread  far  and  wide." 

"Well,  now  he  hath  nought,  and  he  lives  with  me 
as  a  servant,  and  his  old  woman  lives  with  him  and 
milks  my  cows." 

The  guest  was  astonished.  He  clicked  with  his 
tongue,  shook  his  head,  and  said  :  "  Ah !  'tis  plain 
how  fortune  goes  flying  round  like  a  wheel.     One  she 

145  K 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

raises  on  high,  anothershe  thrusts  down  below.  Tell 
me,"  said  the  guest,  "  is  the  heart  of  the  old  man  sore 
within  him,  perchance?" 

"  Who  can  tell  ?  He  lives  peaceably  and  quietly, 
and  looks  well. 

"  May  one  converse  with  him  ? "  said  the  guest ; 
"  I  should  like  to  question  him  concerning  his  life." 

**  Certainly,  it  is  possible,"  replied  the  host,  and 
he  shouted  from  behind  the  kibitka^  "  Babad,"  which 
signifies  grandfather  in  the  Bashkir  language,  "go 
and  drink  kumis  and  call  hither  the  old  man ! " 

And  Elias  came  to  them  with  his  wife.  Elias 
greeted  the  guests  and  the  host,  recited  a  prayer,  and 
squatted  down  on  his  knees  at  the  door,  and  his 
wife  went  behind  the  curtain  and  sat  down  with  her 
mistress. 

They  gave  Elias  a  cup  full  of  kumis.  Elias  drank 
the  healths  of  the  guests  and  the  host,  did  obeisance, 
drank  a  little  more,  and  then  placed  the  cup  aside. 

"  Now,  tell  me,  grandfather,"  said  one  of  the 
guests,  "  I  suppose  it  grieves  thee  looking  at  us,  to 
call  to  mind  thy  former  life,  and  to  recollect  how 
fortunate  thou  wert,  and  how  now  thou  dwellest  in 
misery  ?  " 

And  Elias  smiled  and  said  :  "  If  I  were  to  speak  to 
thee  of  good  fortune  and  ill  fortune  thou  wouldst 
not  believe  me — far  better  it  would  be  if  thou  didst 
ask  my  old  wife  concerning  this  thing.  She  is  a 
woman,  and  therefore  what  her  heart  feeleth  that  her 
tongue  speaketh ;  she  will  tell  thee  the  whole  truth 
about  this  matter." 

And  the  guest  spake,  turning  towards  the  curtain ; 
146 


Elias 

"Speak  now,  old  woman  !  tell  me,  how  judgest  thou 
concerning  thy  former  good  fortune  and  thy  present 
ill  fortune?" 

And  Shem  Shemagi  answered  from  behind  the 
curtain  :  "  This  is  how  I  judge :  I  and  my  old  man 
lived  together  for  fifty  years  ;  we  sought  after  happi- 
ness and  we  could  not  find  it,  and  only  now  this  is  the 
second  year  in  which  we  have  wanted  for  nothing, 
and  we  live  as  working  folks  and  have  found  real 
happiness,  and  we  want  nothing  else." 

The  guests  were  astonished  and  the  host  was 
astonished  ;  he  even  rose  up  and  threw  aside  the 
curtain  to  behold  the  old  woman.  And  there  the 
old  woman  stood  with  folded  arms,  and  she  was 
smiling,  and  she  looked  at  her  old  man,  and  he 
smiled  also. 

And  the  old  woman  also  said  :  "  I  speak  the  truth, 
I  jest  not :  we  sought  happiness  for  half  a  hundred 
years,  and  while  we  were  rich  we  did  not  find  it  at 
all ;  now  that  we  have  nothing  left  and  live  among 
working  people  we  have  found  such  happiness  that 
we  need  nothing  better." 

"And  in  what,  then,  does  your  present  happiness 
consist  ?  " 

v.- 

ii  "  It  consists  in  this :  while  we  were  rich  I  and 
my  old  man  had  not  a  single  quiet  hour  together, 
we  had  no  time  to  talk,  no  time  to  think  of  our 
souls,  no  time  to  pray  to  God.  So  many  cares  were 
we  saddled  with.  At  one  time  guests  came  to  see 
us,  and  it  was  a  worry  what  to  set  before  each  and 
with  what  presents  to  gratify  them  lest  they  should 
speak  scornfully  concerning  us.     Then  there  was  the 

147 


Mope  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

trouble  of  seeing  to  it  that  the  wolves  did  not  rend 
the  lambs  or  kids  or  that  thieves  did  not  chase  away 
the  horses.  Even  when  we  lay  down  it  was  not  to 
sleep,  for  we  feared  that  the  sheep  might  overlay  the 
lambs  in  the  night.  You  might  get  up  and  go  about 
at  night,  and  no  sooner  would  your  mind  be  at  ease 
than  a  fresh  worry  would  arise :  how  to  find  hay  or 
pasturage  in  the  winter  time — and  so  it  would  go  on. 
And  all  this  was  nothing  to  the  disagreements 
between  my  old  man  and  me.  He  would  say  :  '  We 
ought  to  do  this/  and  then  I  would  say :  '  No !  we 
ought  to  do  that  1 '  and  so  we  began  to  curse  each 
other,  and  that  was  sinful.  Thus  we  lived,  and  went 
on  from  care  to  care,  from  sin  to  sin,  and  we  found 
no  happiness  in  life." 

"Well,  but  now?" 

"Now  I  and  my  old  man  rise  up  together,  we 
converse  lovingly  and  agree  in  all  things,  we  have 
nought  to  quarrel  about  and  nought  to  trouble  us — 
our  sole  care  is  to  serve  our  master.  We  labour 
according  as  we  are  able,  we  labour  gladly,  so  that 
our  master  may  have  no  loss  and  may  prosper.  We 
come  to  the  house — there  is  dinner,  there  is  supper, 
there  is  kumis.  If  it  be  cold  there  is  the  kizyak^ 
wherewith  to  warm  ourselves,  and  there  are  furs. 
And  there  is  time,  when  we  wish  it,  to  talk  together, 
to  think  of  our  souls,  and  to  pray  to  God.  For  fifty 
years  we  sought  happiness,  and  only  now  have  we 
found  it." 

The  guests  began  to  laugh. 

But  Elias  said  :  "  Laugh  not,  brethren !  this  is  no 
*  Dried  cow-dung  used  as  fuel  by  the  Bashkirs. 
148 


Eiias 

jest,  but  human  life.  And  at  first  my  old  woman  and 
I  were  fools  and  wept  because  we  had  lost  our  wealth, 
but  now  God  hath  revealed  the  truth  to  us,  and 
now  we  also  reveal  it  to  you,  not  for  our  amuse- 
ment but  for  your  good." 

And  the  Mullah  said:  "These  be  wise  sayings,  and 
Elias  hath  spoken  the  real  truth,  and  all  this  is 
written  down  in  the  Scriptures." 

And  the  guests  ceased  to  laugh,  and  they  pondered 
these  things  in  their  hearts. 


149 


v.— THE  TWO  BROTHERS  AND  THE  GOLD 

Once  upon  a  time,  in  the  days  long  since  gone 
by,  there  dwelt  at  Jerusalem  two  brothers ;  the  name 
of  the  elder  was  Athanasius,  the  name  of  the  younger 
John.  They  dwelt  on  a  hill  not  far  from  the  town, 
and  lived  upon  what  people  gave  to  them.  Every 
day  the  brothers  went  out  to  work.  They  worked 
not  for  themselves,  but  for  the  poor.  Wherever  the 
overworked,  the  sick  were  to  be  found — wherever 
there  were  widows  and  orphans,  thither  went  the 
brothers,  and  there  they  worked  and  spent  their  time, 
taking  no  payment.  Thus  the  brothers  went  about 
separately  the  whole  week,  and  only  met  together 
in  the  evening  of  the  Sabbath  at  their  own  dwelling. 
Only  on  Sunday  did  they  remain  at  home,  praying 
and  conversing  together.  And  the  Angel  of  the  Lord 
came  down  to  them  and  blessed  them.  On  the 
Monday  they  separated  again,  each  going  his  own 
way.  Thus  did  the  brothers  live  for  many  years, 
and  every  week  the  Angel  of  the  Lord  came  down 
to  them  and  blessed  them. 

One  Monday,  when  the  brothers  had  gone  forth  to 
work,  and  had  parted  their  several  ways,  the  elder 
brother,  Athanasius,  felt  sorry  at  having  had  to  part 
from   his   beloved   brother,  and   he   stood   still  and 

150 


The  Two  Brothers  and  the  Gold 

glanced  after  him.  John  was  walking  with  bent  head, 
and  he  did  not  look  back.  But  suddenly  John  also 
stopped  as  if  he  perceived  something  and  continued 
to  gaze  fixedly  at  it.  Presently  he  drew  near  to  that 
which  he  had  been  looking  upon,  and  then  suddenly 
leaped  aside,  and,  not  stopping  for  another  instant, 
ran  towards  the  mountain  and  up  the  mountain,  right 
away  from  the  place,  just  as  if  some  savage  beast 
were  pursuing  him.  Athanasius  was  astonished,  and 
turned  back  to  the  place  to  find  out  what  his  brother 
had  been  so  afraid  of.  At  last  he  approached  the 
spot,  and  then  he  sav/  something  glistening  in  the 
sun.  He  drew  nearer. — on  the  grass,  as  if  poured  out 
from  a  measure,  lay  a  heap  of  gold.  And  Athanasius 
was  still  more  astonished,  both  at  the  sight  of  the 
gold  and  at  the  leaping  aside  of  his  brother. 

"  What  was  he  afraid  of,  and  what  did  he  run  away 
from  ?  "  thought  Athanasius.  "  There  is  no  sin  in 
gold,  sin  is  in  man.  You  may  do  ill  with  gold, 
but  you  may  also  do  good.  How  many  widows  and 
orphans  might  not  be  fed  therewith,  how  many  naked 
ones  might  not  be  clothed,  how  many  poor  and  sick 
might  not  be  cared  for  and  cured  by  means  of  this 
gold?  Now,  indeed,  we  minister  to  people,  but  our 
ministration  is  but  little,  because  our  power  is  small, 
and  with  this  gold  we  might  minister  to  people  much 
more  than  we  do  now."  Thus  thought  Athanasius, 
and  would  have  said  so  to  his  brother,  but  John  was 
by  this  time  out  of  hearing,  and  looked  no  bigger 
than  a  cockchafer  on  the  further  mountain. 

And  Athanasius  took  off  his  garment,  shovelled  as 
much  gold  into  it  as  he  was  able  to  carry,  threw  it 

151 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

over  his  shoulder,  and  went  into  the  town.  He  went 
to  an  inn,  gave  the  gold  to  the  innkeeper,  and  then 
went  off  to  fetch  the  rest  of  it.  And  when  he  had 
brought  in  all  the  gold  he  went  to  the  merchants, 
bought  Icind  in  that  town,  bought  stones,  wood,  hired 
labourers,  and  set  about  building  three  -houses.  And 
Athanasius  abode  in  the  town  three  months,  and  built 
the  three  houses  in  that  town ;  one  of  the  houses  was 
an  asylum  for  widows  and  orphans,  the  second 
house  was  a  hospital  for  the  sick,  the  third  house 
was  a  hospice  for  the  poor  and  for  pilgrims.  And 
Athanasius  sought  him  out  three  God-fearing  elders, 
and  the  first  elder  he  placed  over  the  refuge,  the 
second  over  the  hospital,  and  the  third  over  the 
hospice  for  pilgrims.  And  Athanasius  had  three 
thousand  gold  pieces  still  left  And  he  gave  a 
thousand  to  each  of  the  elders  that  they  might  have 
wherewith  to  distribute  among  the  poor.  And  all 
three  houses  began  to  be  filled  with  people,  and  the 
people  began  to  praise  Athanasius  for  all  that  he  had 
done.  And  Athanasius  rejoiced  thereat,  so  that  he 
had  no  desire  to  depart  from  the  town.  But  Athan- 
asius loved  his  brother,  and,  taking  leave  of  the  people, 
and  not  keeping  for  himself  a  single  coin  of  all  this 
money,  he  went  back  to  his  dwelling  in  the  selfsame 
old  garment  in  which  he  had  come  to  town. 

Athanasius  was  drawing  near  tO'  his  mountain,  and 
he  thought  to  himself:  "My  brother  judged  wrongly 
when  he  leaped  aside  from  the  gold  and  ran  away 
from  it.     Haven't  I  done  much  better?  " 

And  Athanasius  had  no  sooner  thought  this  than 
suddenly  he  beheld  standing  in  his  path  the  Angel 

152 


The  Two  Brothers  and  the  Gold 

who  had  been  sent  to  bless  them,  but  now  looked 
threateningly  upon  him.  And  Athanasius  was  aghast 
and  could  only  say  : 

"Wherefore,  my  Lord?" 

And  the  Angel  opened  his  mouth  and  said : 

"  Depart  frQm  hence !  Thou  art  not  worthy  to 
dwell  with  thy  brother.  That  one  leap  aside  of  thy 
brother's  was  worth  more  than  all  that  thou  hast 
done  with  thy  gold." 

Athanasius  began  to  talk  of  how  many  poor  and 
how  many  pilgrims  he  had  fed,  and  of  how  many 
orphans  he    had   cared   for. 

And  the  Angel  said  to  him: 

"  That  same  Devil  who  placed  the  gold  there  in 
order  to  corrupt  thee,  hath  also  put  these  big  words 
into  thy  mouth. 

And  then  the  conscience  of  Athanasius  upbraided 
him,  and  he  understood  that  what  he  had  done  was 
not  done  for  God,  and  he  wept  and  began  to  repent. 

Then  the  Angel  stepped  aside  from  the  road,  and 
left  free  for  him  the  path  in  which  John  was  already 
standing  awaiting  his  brother.  And  from  thenceforth 
Athanasius  yielded  no  more  to  the  wiles  of  the  Devil 
who  had  strewn  the  gold  in  his  path,  and  he  under- 
stood that  not  by  gold,  but  by  good  works  only,  could 
he  render  service  to  God  and  his  fellow-man. 

And  the  brethren  dwelt  together  as  before. 


153 


VI.— THE   CHILDREN    WISER   THAN    THE 
ELDERS 

The  Holy-Tide  fell  early.  Only  in  sledges  could  one 
fare  quickly  along.  The  snow  lay  upon  the  houses, 
and  in  the  country  the  little  streams  were  trickling. 
A  large  puddle  was  oozing  from  a  manure  heap 
between  two  houses  into  an  alley.  And  two  little 
children  from  different  houses,  one  very  small  and 
the  other  somewhat  older,  had  been  drawn  towards 
this  puddle.  The  mothers  of  both  children  had 
dressed  them  in  new  sarafans^  The  tinier  child 
wore  a  blue  one,  the  bigger  child  a  yellow  one  with 
a  nice  pattern.  Both  had  pretty  kerchiefs  tied  round 
their  heads.  The  children  had  gone  out  after  dinner 
to  the  puddle,  showed  each  other  their  pretty  things, 
and  begun  to  play.  And  then  the  desire  seized  them 
to  go  splashing  about  in  the  water.  The  little  girl 
crept  down  in  her  slippers  to  the  puddle,  but  the 
elder  one  said : 

"  Don't  go,  Malashka,  mother  will  scold  us.  But 
if  you  like  I'll  take  off  my  shoes  and  you  take  off 
your  shoes  too." 

The  children  took  off  their  shoes,  tucked  up  their 
clothes,  and  went  down  to  the  puddle  from  different 

*  A  long  buttoned  frock,  without  sleeves. 


The  Children  Wiser  than  the  Elders 

sides.     Malashka  went  in  over  her  ankles  and  cried : 

"  It  is  so  deep,  Akulyushka,  I'm  afraid." 

"  Oh,  it's  nothing.  It  won't  get  any  deeper,  come 
straight  towards  me !  " 

They  drew  nearer.     Presently  Akul'ka  said : 

"  Look  out,  Malashka !  don't  splash  so  much !  Go 
more  quietly !  " 

No  sooner  were  the  words  out  of  her  mouth  than 
Malashka  went  plump  !  with  her  foot  in  the  water, 
and  splashed  Akul'ka's  sarafan  all  over.  The  sarafan 
was  splashed  all  over,  and  the  water  went  into  the 
eyes  and  nose  of  Akul'ka  also.  On  seeing  the  great 
stains  on  her  sarafan  Akul'ka  began  to  be  very 
angry  with  Malashkci,  scolded  her,  ran  after  her,  and 
would  have  beaten  her.  Malashka  grew  frightened, 
saw  that  she  had  done  mischief,  leaped  out  of  the 
puddle,  and  ran  off  home.  Akul'ka's  mother  passed 
by,  saw  her  daughter's  sarafan  all  splashed,  and  her 
bodice  all  dirty. 

"  Where  have  you  been,  you  dirty  little  wretoh  ?  " 
cried  she. 

"  Malashka  .splashed  me  on  purpose,"  said  she. 

Akul'ka's  m^other  seized  Malashka  and  boxed  her 
■ears.  Malashka  howled  so  that  the  whole  street 
could  hear  it.  Malashka's  mother  came  rushing 
out. 

"  Why  do  you  beat  my  little  one  ?  "  cried  she,  and 
she  began  to  abuse  her  neighbour. 

One  word  led  to  another,  and  the  women  reviled 
one  another  to  their  hearts'  content.  Then  the 
muzhiks'^  themselves  came  out  and  formed  quite  a 

*  Peasants. 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

large  group  in  the  sltreet.  All  of  them  jabbered 
together,  not  one  of  them  would  listen  to  the  others. 
They  cursed  and  swore,  then  one  of  them  hit  his 
neighbour,  and  there  was  a  general  scrummage  till 
an  old  woman,  Akul'ka's  grandmother,  intervened. 
She  went  into  the  midst  of  the  muzhiks  and  began 
to  speak  soothingly  to  them : 

"What  is  this,  my  kinsmen?  Is  this  the  way  to 
spend  your  days?  ,We  ought  to  rejoice,  and  you  sin 
like  this?" 

But  they  did  not  listen  to  the  old  woman,  and  all 
but  knocked  her  off  her  legs.  Nor  would  the  old 
woman  have  pacified  them  but  for  Akul'ka  and 
Malashka.  While  the  women  were  squabbling, 
Akul'ka  had  dried  her  Httle  sarafan  and  came  out 
again  to  the  puddle  in  the  lane.  She  picked  up  a 
little  stone  and  began  to  fill  up  the  puddle  with  earth 
in  order  to  make  the  water  flow  over  into  the  street. 
Whilst  she  was  digging  Malashka  also  came  out  and 
began  to  help  her  to  dig  a  channel  with  a  little  chip 
of  wood.  The  muzhiks  still  kept  on  wrangling,  and 
all  the  time  the  water  was  running  into  the  street 
through  the  channel  made  by  the  little  girls,  running 
right  to  the  very  place  where  the  old  woman  was 
trying  to  bring  the  muzhiks  to  reason.  The  little 
girls  began  running  one  on  one  side  and  the  other 
on  the  other  side  of  the  little  rivulet  they  had 
made. 

"  Stop  it,  Malashka !  stop  it !  "  shrieked  Akul'ka. 

Malashka,  too,  wanted  to  say  something,  but  could 
not  utter  a  word  for  sheer  laughter. 

So  the  little  girls  ran  along,  laughing  at  the  chip 

156 


I 


The  Children  Wiser  than  the  Elders 

of  wood  as  it  bobbed  up  and  down  on  the  rivulet. 
And  they  ran  right  into  the  midst  of  the  muzhiks. 

The  old  woman  perceived  them,  and  said  to  the 
muzhiks : 

"  Do  ye  not  fear  God  that  ye  wrangle  so ! 
Here  are  all  ye  muzhiks  quarrelling  and  striving 
together  about  these  very  children,  while  they  them- 
selves have  long  ago  forgotten  all  about  it,  and  are 
playing  together  again  in  all  heartiness  and  loving 
kindness.     They  are  wiser  than  you." 

The  muzhiks  looked  at  the  little  girls  and  they  were 
ashamed.  And  then  the  muzhiks  began  laughing 
at  themselves,  and  separated,  each  man  going  to  his 
own  house. 

"  If  ye  do  not  become  as  little  children,  ye  shall 
not  enter  into  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven." 


157 


VII.— THE    DEATH    OF   IVAN    IL'ICH 

I. 

In  the  large  building  devoted  to  judicial  business, 
during  the  interruption  of  the  session  in  which  the 
Meluisky  affair  was  under  consideration,  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Court  and  the  Procurator  had  assembled 
in  the  cabinet  of  Ivan  Egorovich  Shebek,  and  were 
discussing  the  celebrated  Krasovsky  affair.  Theodor 
Vasilevich,  waxing  warm,  proved  that  there  was  no 
jurisdiction.  Ivan  Egorovich  stuck  to  his  opinion 
likewise.  Peter  Ivanovich,  taking  no  part  at  first 
in  the  dispute,  was  simply  glancing  through  the 
newspapers. 

"  Gentlemen  ! "  said  he,  "  Ivan  Il'ich  is  dead." 

"  Impossible !  " 

"Read  for  yourselves,  then,  here  it  is,"  said  he  to 
Theodor  Vasilevich,  showing  him  the  new  number  of 
the  "  Gazette,"  fresh  and  moist  from  the  press. 

Within  a  black  border  was  printed :  "  Praskov'ya 
Thedorovna  Golovina,  with  heart-felt  regret,  informs 
her  relations  and  acquaintances  of  the  death  of  her 
beloved  husband  and  member  of  the  High  Court, 
Ivan  Il'ich  Golovin,  which  took  place  on  the  4th  of 
February  of  the  current  year.  The  funeral  will  take 
place  at  one  o'clock  in  the  afternoon." 

158 


The  Death  of  Ivan  ITich 

Ivan  Il'ich  was  a  colleague  of  the  gentlemen 
assembled  there,  and  they  all  loved  him.  He  had 
been  ailing  now  for  some  weeks,  and  his  malady 
was  said  to  be  incurable.  His  place  had  been  left 
vacant,  but  the  general  impression  was  that,  in  case 
of  his  death,  Aleksyeev  might  be  nominated  his  suc- 
cessor, and  either  Vinnikov  or  Shtabel  would  take 
the  place  of  Aleksyeev.  Thus,  on  hearing  of  the 
death  of  Ivan  Il'ich,  the  first  thought  of  every  one 
of  the  gentlemen  assembled  in  that  cabinet  was : 
How  would  this  death  affect  the  members  of  the 
tribunal  or  their  acquaintances  in  the  way  of  change 
of  position  and  promotion  ? 

"  Now  I  shall  certainly  get  Shtabel's  place  or 
Vinnikov's,"  Theodor  Vasilevich  thought  to  himself. 
*'  It  was  promised  to  me  a  long  time  ago,  and  this 
promotion  would  mean  an  increment  of  800  roubles, 
besides  office  fees." 

"I  must  petition  now  for  the  transfer  of  my 
brother-in-law  from  Kaluga,"  thought  Peter  Ivano- 
vich.  "The  wife  will  be  very  glad.  Now  she  will 
not  be  able  to  say  that  I  never  do  anything  for  her 
relations." 

"  I  never  thought  he  would  get  over  it,  I  must  say," 
said  Peter  Ivanovich  aloud  ;  "  it  is  a  great  pity." 

"  What  was  really  the  matter  with  him  ?  " 

"  The  doctors  can't  exactly  decide.  Or,  rather,  they 
have  decided,  but  all  their  opinions  differ.  When  I 
saw  him  last  it  seemed  to  me  that  he  was  getting 
better." 

"  So  I  thought,  and  I  have  not  seen  him  for  some 
time.     He  was  quite  collected." 

159 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

"  What  were  his  circumstances  ?  " 

"  It  appears  his  wife  has  precious  little.  There's 
some  trifle,  I  believe." 

"  One  ought  to  call.  They  live  a  frightful  distance 
off." 

"  Far  away  from  you,  no  doubt,  very  far." 

"Well,  you  cannot  expect  me  to  live  in  the 
suburbs,"  said  Peter  Ivanovich,  smiling  at  Shebek. 
And  they  began  talking  of  how  great  the  distances 
were  in  the  city,  and  then  resumed  the  session. 

Independently  of  the  potential  permutations  and 
transfers  likely  to  result  in  official  circles  from  this 
death,  the  mere  fact  of  the  death  itself  of  a  close 
acquaintance  excited,  as  usual,  in  all  who  heard  it,  a 
feeling  of  satisfaction  that  the  hearers  survived. 

"  Ah  !  he  has  died,  and  here  am  I  alive,"  was  what 
everyone  thought  or  felt.  Moreover,  the  close 
acquaintances,  including  the  so-called  friends  of  Ivan 
Il'ich,  on  this  occasion  involuntarily  reflected  that 
now  they  would  have  to  fulfil  the  very  tiresome 
obligations  of  propriety,  and  attend  the  Panikhida^ 
besides  waiting  upon  the  widow  with  their  condo- 
lences. 

The  nearest  neighbours  were  Theodor  Vasilevich 
and  Peter  Ivanovich. 

Peter  Ivanovich  was  a  member  of  the  College  of 
Jurisprudence,  and  considered  himself  under  obliga- 
tions to  Ivan  Il'ich. 

After  communicating  to  his  wife  at  dinner  the  news 
of  the  death  of  Ivan  Il'ich,  and  of  the  idea  and  the 
possibility  of  transferring  his  own  brother-in-law  into 
*  Mass  for  the  repose  of  the  soul  of  the  deceased. 

i6o 


The  Death  of  Ivan  ITich 

their  circle,  Ivan  Ivanovich  sighed  sincerely,  put  on 
his  frock-coat,  and  went  to  the  house  of  Ivan  Il'ich. 

At  the  entrance  to  the  quarters  of  Ivan  Il'ich  stood 
a  carriage  and  two  coachmen.  Below,  in  the  ante- 
chamber, near  the  coat-stand,  leaning  against  the 
wall,  was  the  glazed  lid  of  the  coffin,  adorned  with 
tassels  and  galloon,  and  furbished  up  with  powder  to 
look  like  new.  Two  ladies  in  black  were  taking  off 
their  furs.  One  was  the  sister  of  Ivan  Il'ich,  whom  he 
knew,  the  other  was  a  stranger.  Peter  Ivanovich's 
colleague,  Schwarz,  was  coming  downstairs,  and 
from  the  top  step  saw  the  new  arrival  ;  he  stopped 
short,  and  winked  at  him,  as  much  as  to  say :  "  Ivan 
Il'ich  has  made  a  mess  of  it ;  what  have  we  got  to  do 
with  it  ?  " 

Schwarz's  face,  with  its  English  whiskers,  and  his 
long,  lean  figure  in  its  frock-coat,  had,  as  usual,  an 
air  of  refined  solemnity,  and  this  solemnity,  always 
diametrically  opposed  to  the  humorous  character  of 
Schwarz,  had  here  a  peculiar  piquancy.  So,  at  any 
rate,  thought  Peter  Ivanovich. 

Peter  Ivanovich  let  the  ladies  go  on  before  him, 
and  slowly  ascended  the  staircase  behind  them. 
Schwarz  did  not  descend,  but  remained  at  the  top. 
Peter  Ivanovich  understood  why  :  he  wanted  to 
arrange  with  him  where  they  were  to  meet  to-day. 
The  ladies  went  up  the  staircase  to  the  widow,  but 
Schwarz,  with  his  strong  lips  in  a  serious  pose,  and  a 
waggish  look,  indicated  by  a  movement  of  the  brows 
that  the  room  where  the  corpse  lay  was  to  the  right. 

Peter  Ivanovich,  as  was  always  the  case  with  him, 
entered  with  a  feeling  of  uncertainty  as  to  what  he 

i6i  L 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

ought  to  do  there.  One  thing  he  was  quite  certain 
of — one  should  never  fail  to  cross  oneself  on  such 
occasions.  As  to  whether  it  was  also  necessary  to 
genuflect,  he  was  not  quite  sure,  so  he  adopted  a 
middle  course :  on  entering  the  room  he  proceeded  to 
cross  himself,  and  just  made  a  slight  pretence  of 
genuflecting.  As  much  as  this  pantomime  with  his 
hands  and  head  allowed  him  to  do  so,  he  glanced 
round  the  room.  Two  young  men,  one  of  them  a 
gymnasiast,  both  apparently  relatives,  were  coming 
out  of  the  room,  crossing  themselves.  An  old  woman 
was  standing  there  immovably,  and  a  lady,  with 
pointedly  arched  brows,  was  saying  something  to  her 
in  a  whisper.  A  dyachek,^  in  a  cassock,  alert  and 
emphatic,  was  reading  something  aloud,  with  an 
expression  excluding  all  contradiction ;  the  muzhik- 
waiter,  Gerasim,  passing  in  front  of  Peter  Ivanovich 
with  light  steps,  was  strewing  something  on  the 
floor.  No  sooner  had  he  noticed  this  than  Peter 
Ivanovich  was  sensible  of  the  faint  odour  of  a  corpse. 
Last  time  he  had  called  upon  Ivan  Il'ich,  Peter 
Ivanovich  had  seen  this  muzhik  in  the  cabinet ;  he 
served  as  a  nurse,  and  Ivan  Il'ich  was  particularly 
fond  of  him.  Peter  Ivanovich  kept  on  crossing  him- 
self, and  slightly  genuflecting  in  a  central  position, 
between  the  coflin,  the  cTyackek^  and  the  images  on 
the  wall  in  the  corner.  Presently,  when  this  action 
of  crossing  himself  seemed  to  him  to  have  lasted  quite 
long  enough,  he  stopped  short,  and  began  to  look  at 
the  corpse. 

The    corpse    lay    particularly   heavily,    as    is    the 

*  Church  singer 
162 


The  Death  of  Ivan  ll'Ich 

way  with  corpses,  its  stark-cold  members  sinking 
inwardly  towards  the  bottom  of  the  coffin,  with  the 
head  projecting  somewhat  from  the  pillow,  and 
prominently  exhibited,  as  corpses  always  do  exhibit, 
its  yellow  waxen  forehead  with  the  bald  patches 
on  the  emaciated  temples,  and  the  prominent  nose 
almost  embedded  in  the  upper  lip.  He  had  changed 
very  much.  He  was  even  thinner  than  when  Peter 
Ivanovich  had  last  seen  him  ;  but,  as  is  the  case  with 
all  corpses,  the  face  had  become  handsomer,  more 
distinguished  looking,  than  it  had  been  in  life — that 
was  the  most  noticeable  change.  On  the  face  there 
was  an  expression  which  said  that  what  it  was 
necessary  to  do  had  been  done,  and  done  rightly. 
Moreover,  in  the  expression  of  the  face  there  was 
something  besides,  either  a  reproach  or  a  recollection, 
of  something  in  life.  This  recollection  seemed  to 
Peter  Ivanovich  incongruous,  or,  at  least,  inapplicable 
to  him.  He  had  an  unpleasant  sort  of  feeling,  and 
therefore  Peter  Ivanovich  hastily  crossed  himself  once 
more,  and,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  much  too  hastily  and 
incompatibly  with  decent  observance,  and  he  turned 
and  went  towards  the  door.  Schwarz  was  awaiting 
him  in  the  vestibule,  with  his  legs  stretched  far  apart, 
and  drumming  with  both  hands  on  the  sides  of  his 
top  hat.  One  glance  at  the  humorous,  wholesome, 
and  elegant  figure  of  Schwarz  quite  refreshed  Peter 
Ivanovich.  Peter  Ivanovich  understood  that  he, 
Schwarz,  stood  high  above  all  that,  and  refused  to 
submit  to  depressing  influences.  A  single  glance  of 
his  said  :  The  incident  of  t\iQ  panikhida  of  Ivan  Il'ich 
is  absolutely  no  sufficient  occasion  for  the  interruption 

163 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

of  the  recognised  order  of  things ;  in  other  words, 
nothing  could  interfere  with  the  shuffling  of  a  pack  of 
cards  that  very  evening,  and  the  dealing  them  out, 
while  the  lackeys  were  putting  four  freshly  lighted 
candles  in  their  proper  places  ;  and,  in  general, 
there  was  no  reason  for  supposing  that  this  incident 
could  prevent  us  from  spending  together  a  pleasant 
evening  to-day  as  on  all  other  days.  He  said  as 
much  to  Peter  Ivanovich  as  he  passed  by,  and  invited 
him  to  join  them  in  a  card  party  at  Theodor  Vasile- 
vich's.  But,  plainly,  it  was  not  the  fate  of  Peter 
Ivanovich  to  amuse  himself  that  evening.  Praskov'ya 
Thedorovna,  a  short,  fat  woman,  and,  despite  every 
architectural :  effort  of  her  own  in  the  contrary  direc- 
tion, expanding  downwards  from  the  shoulders,  all 
in  black,  with  a  lace  hood,  and  with  just  the  same 
strangely  raised  eyebrows  as  the  lady  standing  before 
the  coffin,  came  out  of  her  apartments  with  other 
ladies,  and,  conducting  them  to  the  dead  man's  door, 
said : 

''  The  panikhida  will  take  place  immediately,  go 
in ! " 

Schwarz,  bowing  indefinitely,  remained  where  he 
was,  obviously  neither  declining  nor  accepting  this 
invitation.  Praskov'ya  Thedorovna,  observing  Peter 
Ivanovich,  sighed,  came  straight  towards  him,  took 
his  hand,  and  said  : 

"  I  know  that  you  were  a  sincere  friend  of  Ivan 
Il'ich,"  and  kept  looking  at  him,  expecting  from  him 
actions  corresponding  with  these  words. 

Peter  Ivanovich  knew  that  just  as  it  had  been 
necessary  to  cross  himself  a  little  time  ago,  so  now 

164 


The  Death  of  Ivan  ll'lch 

it  was  necessary  to  press  the  lady's  hand,  sigh,  and 
say : 

"  Believe  me,  I  was  indeed." 

And  he  did  so.  And,  having  so  done,  he  felt  that 
the  result  desired  was  obtained — he  was  touched  and 
she  was  touched. 

"  Come,  before  they  begin  in  there,  I  want  to  have 
a  little  talk  with  you,"  said  the  widow  ;  "  give  me 
your  hand." 

Peter  Ivanovich  gave  his  hand,  and  they  proceeded 
together  to  an  inner  apartment,  past  Schwarz,  who 
gave  Peter  Ivanovich  a  melancholy  wink. 

"  It's  all  up  with  our  game  !  Don't  try  and  come, 
we'll  look  out  for  another  partner,"  was  what  his 
waggish  look  said, 

Peter  Ivanovich  sighed,  still  more  deeply  and  sadly, 
and  Praskov'ya  Thedorovna  gratefully  pressed  his 
arm.  Entering  her  drawing-room,  tapestried  in  pink 
cretonne,  and  lit  by  a  dim  shaded  lamp,  they  sat  down 
at  the  table,  she  on  the  divan,  and  Peter  Ivanovich 
on  a  low  seat  with  disordered  springs  and  irregularly 
disposed  down-stuffing,  which  gave  way  beneath  him. 
Praskov'ya  Thedorovna  would  have  insisted  on  his 
taking  another  seat,  but  reflected  that  such  insistence 
was  incongruous  with  her  situation,  and  thought  better 
of  it.  As  he  sat  down  on  the  soft  cushioned  seat, 
Peter  Ivanovich  called  to  mind  how  Ivan  Il'ich  had 
designed  the  ornamentation  of  this  room,  and  had 
consulted  him  about  the  pink  cretonne  with  the 
green  leaves.  As  she  sat  on  the  divan,  after  steering 
her  way  round  the  table  (the  whole  drawing-room, 
by  the  way,  was   crowded   with    knick-knacks   and 

165 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

furniture),  the  black  lace  of  the  widow's  black  dress 
caught  in  the  carving  of  the  table.  Peter  Ivanovich 
started  up  to  unfasten  it,  and  the  downy  cushion, 
freed  from  the  pressure  of  his  body,  sprang  up  and 
bumped  him.  The  widow  herself  stood  up,  and  began 
to  unfasten  her  lace,  and  Peter  Ivanovich  again  sat 
down,  suppressing  the  rebellious  down-stuffing 
beneath  him.  But  the  widow  did  not  quite  detach 
herself,  and  Peter  Ivanovich  again  rose  up,  and  again 
the  stuffing  rose  in  rebellion  and  even  the  springs 
creaked.  When  everything  was  at  last  arranged, 
the  lady  drew  forth  a  clean  batiste  pocket-handker- 
chief, and  began  to  weep.  But  the  episode  of  the 
lace  and  the  struggle  with  the  down  cushion  had 
somewhat  cooled  Peter  Ivanovich,  and  he  sat  down 
somewhat  sulkily.  This  awkward  situation  was 
interrupted  by  Sokolov,  Ivan  Il'ich's  butler,  with  the 
announcement  that  the  place  in  the  churchyard  which 
Praskov'ya  Thedorovna  had  fixed  upon  would  cost  200 
roubles.  She  ceased  to  weep,  and,  with  a  victimised 
air,  glanced  at  Peter  Ivanovich,  and  remarked  that  it 
was  a  heavy  price  for  her  to  pay.  Peter  Ivanovich 
made  a  deprecatory  gesture,  expressing  his  indubit- 
able conviction  that  it  could  not  very  well  be  other- 
wise. 

"  Pray  smoke ! "  she  said,  in  a  voice  at  once  mag- 
nanimous and  despondent,  and  she  began  discussing 
with  Sokolov  the  question  of  the  price  of  the  grave. 

Peter  Ivanovich,  as  he  smoked,  heard  how  circum- 
stantially she  inquired  about  the  prices  of  the  different 
plots  of  ground,  and  fixed  upon  the  one  she  ought  to 
take.  Then,  having  settled  at  last  about  the  plot 
!  166 


The  Death  of  Ivan  ITioh 

of  ground,  she  settled  about  the  singers.     Sokolov 
withdrew. 

"  I  do  everything  myself,"  she  said  to  Peter  Ivano- 
vich,  pushing  aside  the  albums  lying  on  the  table  ; 
and  observing  that  the  tobacco  ash  was  threatening 
the  table,  she  unobtrusively  insinuated  an  ash  tray 
close  to  Peter  Ivanovich,  without  interrupting  her 
conversation  ;  '*  I  should  consider  it  hypocritical  to 
assert  that  I  cannot  attend  to  practical  things  for 
sheer  grief.  On  the  contrary,  if  anything  can^  I  will 
not  say  relieve,  but  distract  my  thoughts — it  is  this 
caring  for  him." 

Again  she  got  ready  her  handkerchief,  as  if  making 
up  her  mind  to  weep,  and  suddenly,  as  if  doing 
violence  to  herself,  she  shook  her  head  and  began  to 
speak  calmly. 

"  However,  I  have  business  to  transact  with  you." 

Peter  Ivanovich  bowed,  without  allowing  free  play 
to  the  springs  of  his  cushioned  seat,  which  imme- 
diately grew  unruly  beneath  him. 

"  He  suffered  terribly  at  the  last." 

*^  Did  he  suffer  very  much  } "  inquired  Peter  Ivano- 
vich. 

"  Ah,  frightfully !  At  the  last  he  never  ceased  to 
cry  out — not  for  minutes,  but  for  hours  at  a  time. 
For  three  days  in  succession  he  cried  out  without  any 
variation  of  voice.  It  was  insupportable.  I  can't 
understand  how  I  managed  to  stand  it ;  we  could 
hear  him  through  three  doors.  Alas  !  What  have  I 
not  endured ! " 

"  But  was  he  really  conscious  ? "  inquired  Peter 
Ivanovich. 

167 


More  Tales  fpom  Tolstoi 

"Yes,"  she  whispered,  "to  the  very  last  moment. 
He  took  leave  of  us  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  his 
death,  and  even  asked  us  to  bring  Voloda  to  him." 

The  thought  of  the  sufferings  of  the  man  he  had 
known  so  intimately,  first  of  all  as  a  merry  child  and 
schoolfellow,  and  afterwards,  when  he  had  grown  up, 
as  a  colleague,  despite  the  unpleasant  consciousness 
of  his  hypocrisy  and  the  hypocrisy  of  this  woman, 
suddenly  terrified  Peter  Ivanovich.  Again  he  saw 
before  him  that  forehead,  and  the  nose  pressing  upon 
the  upper  lip,  and  he  had  a  feeling  of  horror  on  his 
own  account. 

"Three  whole  days  of  terrible  suffering — and 
death.  The  same  thing  may  befall  me,  suddenly,  at 
any  moment,"  he  thought,  and  for  an  instant  he  had 
a  sensation  of  horror.  But  immediately,  he  himself 
knew  not  how,  there  came  to  his  assistance  the  usual 
reflection  that  this  thing  had  happened  to  Ivan  Il'ich 
and  not  to  him  ;  that  it  ought  not,  and  could  not, 
happen  to  him,  and  that,  by  giving  way  to  the  thought 
of  it,  he  was  only  giving  way  to  a  gloomy  tendency 
which  he  ought  not  to  give  way  to,  as  Schwarz's  face 
had  plainly  declared.  And  having  made  this  reflec- 
tion, Peter  Ivanovich  felt  more  comfortable,  and  began 
with  interest  to  inquire  about  the  particulars  of  the 
end  of  Ivan  Il'ich,  as  if  death  was  an  accident  to  which 
only  Ivan  Il'ich  was  liable,  but  he  himself  was 
not. 

After  various  discussions  about  the  really  terrible 
physical  sufferings  endured  by  Ivan  Il'ich  (Peter 
Ivanovich  learnt  these  particulars  simply  because  the 
torments  of  Ivan  Il'ich  were  really  upon  the  nerves  of 

i68 


The  Death  of  Ivan  M'ich 

Praskov'ya  Thedorovna),  the  widow  evidently  thought 
it  was  necessary  to  come  to  the  point. 

"Alas  !  Peter  Ivanovich,"  said  she,  "how  hard  it  is, 
how  terribly  hard,  how  terribly  hard,"  and  she  burst 
into  tears. 

Peter  Ivanovich  sighed,  and  waited  for  her  to  dry 
her  eyes.  When  she  had  dried  her  eyes,  he  said : 
"  Believe  in  my  sympathy  !  "  And  again  she  began 
to  talk,  and  told  him  what  was  evidently  her  real 
business  with  him :  it  amounted  to  asking  him  how 
she  was  to  set  about  obtaining  some  money  from  the 
Treasury  on  the  occasion  of  her  husband's  death. 
She  pretended  to  be  asking  the  advice  of  Peter  Ivano- 
vich as  to  getting  a  pension  ;  but  he  saw  that  she 
already  knew  all  about  it  down  to  the  minutest  par- 
ticular— nay,  knew,  what  he  did  not  know,  the  best 
means  of  extorting  everything  possible  from  the 
Treasury,  with  her  husband's  death  as  a  pretext. 
What  she  really  wanted  to  know  was,  whether  it  were 
possible,  somehow  or  other,  to  extract  still  a  little 
more  money  than  was  strictly  due  ?  Peter  Ivanovich 
tried  to  devise  some  such  expedient,  but,  after  making 
some  suggestions,  and  even,  for  decency's  sake,  cursing 
the  Government  for  its  niggardliness,  he  said  that  it 
seemed  to  him  nothing  more  could  be  got.  Then  she 
sighed,  and  obviously  was  beginning  to  cast  about  for 
some  means  of  ridding  herself  of  her  visitor.  He 
understood  this,  extinguished  his  cigarette,  pressed 
her  hand,  and  went  into  the  antechamber. 

In  the  dining-room,  with  the  clocks  with  which 
Ivan  Il'ich  had  been  so  pleased  (he  bought  them 
in  a  bric-d-brac  shop),  Peter  Ivanovich  met  the  priest 

169 


Mone  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

and  some  other  acquaintances  coming  to  tht  panikhiday 
and  he  saw  a  handsome  young  gentlewoman  whom 
he  also  knew,  the  daughter  of  Ivan  Il'ich.  She 
was  all  in  black.  Her  slim  figure  seemed  slimmer 
than  ever.  She  had  a  gloomy,  resolute,  almost 
angry  look.  She  bowed  to  Peter  Ivanovich  as  if  ^le 
were  to  blame  for  something.  Behind  the  daughter, 
with  just  the  same  aggrieved  look,  stood  an  acquaint- 
ance of  Peter  Ivanovich,  a  rich  young  man,  employed 
in  the  Courts,  h^r  fianc^,  as  Peter  Ivanovich  under- 
stood. He  bowed  to  them  with  a  dispirited  expres- 
sion, and  was  about  to  make  his  way  into  the  dead 
man's  room,  when  there  appeared  on  the  top  of  the 
staircase  the  figure  of  the  son  of  the  house,  the 
gymnasiast,  frightfully  like  Ivan  Il'ich.  It  was  Ivan 
Il'ich  as  a  youth,  as  Peter  Ivanovich  remembered  him 
when  he  was  a  law  student.  His  eyes  were  all  red 
with  weeping,  and  just  like  the  eyes  of  dirty  little 
boys  of  thirteen  or  fourteen.  The  youth,  on  perceiv- 
ing Peter  Ivanovich,  began  to  frown,  half  severely, 
half  shamefacedly.  Peter  Ivanovich  nodded  to  him, 
and  proceeded  into  the  dead  man's  room.  The 
panikhida  began — lights,  groans,  incense,  tears,  sobs. 
Peter  Ivanovich  stood  there,  with  puckered  brows, 
gazing  in  front  of  him  at  his  feet.  Not  once  did 
he  look  at  the  corpse,  and  to  the  very  end  did  not 
once  give  way  to  softening  influences,  and  was  one  of 
the  first  to  go  out.  There  was  nobody  in  the  ante- 
chamber. Gerasim,  the  butler's  assistant,  came  run- 
ning out  of  the  room  of  the  deceased,  fumbled  with  his 
strong  hands  over  all  the  pelisses  in  order  to  get  at 
the  pelisse  of  Peter  Ivanovich,  and  handed  it  to  him. 

170 


The  Death  of  Ivan  ll'ich 

"  Well,  Gerasim,  my  friend  ! "  said  Peter  Ivano- 
vich,  for  the  sake  of  saying  something,  "  a  sad  affair, 
isn't  it?" 

"  It  is  the  will  of  God ;  we  shall  all  have  to  go 
through  the  same  thing,"  said  Gerasim,  showing  his 
white,  compact,  clodhopper  teeth,  and  like  a  man  in 
the  whirl  of  strenuous  work,  he  briskly  opened  the 
door,  called  to  the  coachman,  helped  Peter  Ivano- 
vich  to  his  seat,  and  sprang  back  to  the  staircase,  as 
if  occupied  by  the  thought  of  all  he  had  still  to  do. 

Peter  Ivanovich  felt  a  particular  delight  in  breath- 
ing the  fresh  air,  after  the  smell  of  the  incense,  the 
corpse,  and  the  carbolic  acid. 

"Where  to?"  asked  the  coachman. 

"  It  is  not  late.     I'll  go  to  Theodor  Vasilevich's." 

And  so  Peter  Ivanovich  went.  And,  in  fact,  he 
found  them  at  the  end  of  the  first  rubber,  so  he  just 
came  in  time  to  take  a  hand. 


II. 


The  past  history  of  the  life  of  Ivan  ll'ich  was  most 
simple  and  ordinary,  and  most  terrible. 
\%^  Ivan  ll'ich  died  in  his  forty-eighth  year,  he  was 
an  official  in  the  Law  Courts.  He  was  the  son  of 
an  official  who  had  made  his  way  in  St.  Petersburg 
through  various  Ministries  and  Departments,  follow- 
ing a  career  which  brings  people  into  a  certain 
position  from  which,  although  it  has  clearly  been 
proved  that  they  are  unfit  for  any  sort  of  real  service, 
they  cannot  be  discharged  by  reason  of  their  long 

171 


Mope  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

past  services  and  the  rank  to  which  they  have 
attained  ;  and,  therefore,  they  get  fictitious  sinecures, 
to  which  by  no  means  fictitious  thousands — from 
six  to  ten — are  attached,  on  which  they  go  on  living 
to  an  advanced  old  age. 

Such  a  man  was  Privy  Councillor  Il'ya  Efimovich 
Golovin,  a  superfluous  member  of  various  superfluous 
institutions. 

He  had  three  sons.  Ivan  Il'ich  was  his  second  son. 
The  eldest  son  went  through  the  same  career  as  his 
father,  only  in  another  Ministry,  and  was  already 
drawing  near  to  that  period  of  official  life  which 
is  rewarded  by  a  lucrative  sinecure.  The  third  son 
was  a  failure.  He  had  failed  in  various  places,  and 
was  now  employed  on  the  railway;  and  his  father 
and  his  brothers,  and,  more  particularly,  his  brothers' 
wives,  not  only  did  not  like  to  meet  him,  but,  except 
when  it  was  absolutely  impossible  to  do  so,  altogether 
ignored  his  existence.  Ivan  Il'ich  was  looked  upon 
2iS  le phenix  de  la  famille.  He  was  not  so  cold  and 
careful  as  his  elder  brother,  but  not  such  a  desperate 
character  as  the  younger.  He  was  the  happy 
medium — a  sensible,  vivacious,  amiable,  respectable 
man.  He  was  educated  for  the  law,  along  with  his 
younger  brother.  The  younger  brother  did  not  finish 
his  studies,  and  was  expelled  from  the  fifth  class,  but 
Ivan  Il'ich  did  well.  In  the  law  schools  he  was 
already  what  he  was  to  be  in  the  future  all  his  life — 
a  capable  man,  gay,  good-natured,  and  sociable,  but 
severely  scrupulous  in  doing  what  he  considered  his 
duty,  and  he  considered  as  his  duty  whatever  highly 
placed  people  looked  upon  as   such.     Neither  as  a 

172 


The  Death  of  Ivan  I  rich 

youth,  nor  as  a  grown-up  man,  was  he  ever  a  place- 
hunter,  yet  there  was  this  about  him  from  his  very 
earliest  years :  as  a  fly  is  attracted  to  a  candle,  so  he 
was  always  drawn  towards  the  highest  placed  people 
in  his  own  particular  sphere,  appropriated  their  ways, 
their  views  of  life,  and  established  amicable  relations 
with  them.  All  the  distractions  of  childhood  and 
youth  passed  him  by  without  leaving  any  particular 
trace  upon  him  ;  he  yielded  to  sensuality,  to  ambition, 
and,  finally,  while  in  the  higher  classes,  to  liberalism, 
but  always  within  certain  limits,  which  his  feelings 
of  propriety  indicated  to  him  beforehand. 

It  was  while  he  was  a  law  student  that  he  had 
indulged  himself  in  things  which  he  had  regarded  as 
disgusting  before  he  did  them,  and  which  filled  him 
with  self  loathing  at  the  very  time  when  he  was  doing 
them  ;  -  but,  subsequently,  perceiving  that  such  things 
were  done  even  by  people  in  the  highest  positions, 
and  were  not  considered  bad,  he  himself  did  not 
indeed  regard  them  as  good,  but  simply  forgot  about 
them  altogether,  and  never  worried  himself  by  think- 
ing about  them. 

Quitting  the  schools  of  jurisprudence  when  he  had 
risen  to  the  tenth  class,  and  receiving  from  his  father 
money  for  his  uniform,  Ivan  Il'ich  ordered  a  suit 
from  the  fashionable  tailor,  Sharmer,  hung  on  his 
watch  chain  a  medal  with  the  inscription,  respice 
finem  ;  took  leave  of  his  principals  and  his  instructors  ; 
dined  with  his  comrades  once  or  twice  at  Dinons  ;  and 
with  a  new  modish  trunk,  linen,  suits  of  clothes,  toilet 
and  shaving  requisites,  and  a  plaid,  ordered  and  paid 
for  at  the  very  best  shops,  he  set  off  for  the  provinces, 

173 


More  Tales  fr'om  Tolstoi 

to  take  the  place  of  confidential  clerk  to  the  Governor 
which  his  father  had  obtained  for  him. 

In  the  provinces  Ivan  Il'ich  contrived  to  make  his 
position  as  easy  and  pleasant  as  it  had  been  in  the 
schools  of  jurisprudence.  He  worked  hard,  made  a 
career  for  himself,  and  at  the  same  time  amused 
himself  pleasantly  and  respectably.  Occasionally,  he 
was  despatched  by  the  Government  on  tours  of 
investigation,  always  observing  a  dignified  bearing 
towards  both  high  and  low,  always  remarkable  for 
a  scrupulous  and  incorruptible  integrity  of  which 
he  could  not  fail  to  be  proud,  and  satisfactorily 
accomplishing  every  commission  entrusted  to  him, 
more  especially  those  relating  to  the  dissenters. 

Despite  his  youth  and  a  natural  bias  towards  light 
gaiety,  in  all  business  relations  connected  with  the 
service  he  was  extraordinarily  firm,  official,  and 
even  severe  ;  but  in  society  he  was  frequently  sportive 
and  witty,  and  alv/ays  good-humoured,  gentlemanly, 
and  bon  enfant^  as  his  chief  and  his  chiefs  wife,  with 
whom  he  was  always  at  home,  used  to  say. 

There  was  a  liaison  with  one  of  the  ladies  who  had 
been  attracted  to  the  elegant  jurist  in  the  provinces  ; 
there  was  also  a  little  milliner ;  there  were  also 
drinking-parties  with  casual  wing-adjutants,  and 
excursions  into  a  certain  remote  street  after  supper ; 
there  were  also  some  underhand  services  rendered 
to  the  chief,  and  even  to  the  wife  of  the  chief;  but 
all  this  was  carried  off  with  such  an  air  of  good 
breeding  that  it  was  impossible  to  give  it  a  bad  name, 
so  it  was  all  put  down  as  a  necessary  part  of  the 
French  postulate,  ilfaut  que  jeunesse  se passe.     It  was 

174 


The  Death  of  Ivan  M'ich 

all  carried  on  with  clean  hands,  in  clean  shirts,  with 
French  words,  and,  the  main  thing,  in  the  very  highest 
society,  consequently  with  the  sanction  of  persons  of 
the  highest  rank. 

This  was  the  course  of  Ivan  Il'ich's  life  for  five 
years,  and  then  there  was  a  change  in  the  service. 
New  judicial  departments  appeared,  and  new  men 
were  required  to  fill  them. 

And  Ivan  irich  became  one  of  these  new  men. 

The  post  of  investigating  magistrate  was  offered 
to  Ivan  ITich,  and  Ivan  Il'ich  accepted  it,  notwith- 
standing the  fact  that  this  place  was  in  another 
Government,  and  he  would  have  to  break  off  his 
existing  relations  and  establish  new  ones.  Ivan 
Il'ich's  friends  showed  their  appreciation  of  him  ;  they 
laid  their  heads  together,  presented  him  with  a  silver 
cigarette  holder,  and  off  he  went  to  his  new  appoint- 
ment. 

As  an  investigating  rnagistrate,  Ivan  Il'ich  was 
just  as  comme  il  faut  and  gentlemanly  as  before, 
sensibly  keeping  his  official  obligations  and  his 
private  life  quite  apart,  and  inspiring  general  respect, 
as  became  a  civil  servant  with  a  special  commission. 
Indeed,  the  office  of  magistrate  was  much  more 
interesting  and  attractive  to  Ivan  Il'ich  than  his 
previous  appointment.  In  his  previous  appointment 
it  had  been  very  pleasant  in  his  fashionable  uniform, 
and  with  a  free  and  easy  gait,  to  stroll  past  the 
tremulous  and  expectant  crowd  of  petitioners  and 
minor  qlificial  personages  awaiting  an  audience  out- 
side, who  envied  him  the  privilege  of  going  straight 
into  the  chiefs  private  room,  and  sitting  with  him 

175 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

over  cigarettes  and  tea  ]  but  there  were  very  few 
people  who  directly  depended  upon  his  good  pleasure. 
Such  people  were  only  the  subordinate  local  magis- 
trates and  the  dissenters  who  overwhelmed  him  with 
petitions,  and  he  loved  to  converse  with  such  depen- 
dent folks  politely,  nay,  almost  as  a  comrade ;  he 
loved  to  make  them  feel  that  he,  who  could  have 
crushed  them  if  he  liked,  preferred  to  treat  them 
amicably  and  in  quite  a  homely  way.  Then,  how- 
ever, there  were  very  few  of  such  people.  But  now 
that  he  was  an  investigating  magistrate,  Ivan  Il'ich 
felt  that  all,  all  without  exception,  even  the  most 
important,  self-satisfied  people — all  of  them  were  in 
his  hands,  and  that  he  had  only  to  write  certain  words 
on  a  piece  of  headed  paper,  and  the  most  important, 
self-satisfied  person  would  instantly  be  brought 
before  him,  either  as  a  criminal  or  a  witness,  and, 
unless  he  chose  to  ask  him  to  sit  down,  would  have 
to  stand  before  him  and  answer  his  questions.  Ivan 
Il'ich  never  abused  his  authority,  on  the  contrary,  he 
tried  to  soften  its  expression ;  but  the  conscious- 
ness of  this  authority,  and  of  his  power  to  soften  it, 
constituted,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  the  principal 
interest  and  attraction  of  his  new  office.  In  his  own 
department,  especially  in  his  judicial  investigations, 
Ivan  Il'ich  very  speedily  adopted  the  plan  of  ignoring 
all  circumstances  not  directly  concerning  the  service, 
and  of  presenting  even  the  most  complicated  affair  in 
such  a  form  as  only  superficially  to  express  it  on  paper, 
at  the  same  time  completely  excluding  his  personal 
views,  and  especially  observing  all  the  requisite 
formalities.     This  was  a  new  way  of  doing  things. 

176 


I 


The  Death  of  Ivan  ITich 

On  being  transferred  to  a  new  town,  in  the  capacity 
of  examining  magistrate,  Ivan  Il'ich  made  fresh 
acquaintances,  contracted  fresh  ties,  established  him- 
self anew,  and  adopted  a  somewhat  different  tone. 
He  took  up  a  position  of  dignified  aloofness  as 
regards  the  governmental  authorities,  and  chose  a 
better  circle  from  among  the  magistrates  and  rich 
gentry  dwelling  in  the  town,  and  adopted  a  tone  of 
slight  disapproval  towards  the  Government — a  tone 
of  moderate  liberalism  and  enlightened  citizenship. 
Moreover,  without  making  any  change  in  the  elegance 
of  his  toilet,  Ivan  Il'ich,  in  his  new  dignity,  ceased  to 
shave  closely,  and  gave  his  beard  liberty  to  grow 
as  it  liked. 

The  life  of  Ivan  Il'ich  in  this  new  town  arranged 
itself  very  pleasantly.  The  society  in  which  he  lived, 
and  which  was  for  ever  skirmishing  with  the  Governor, 
was  good  and  amicable,  his  salary  was  larger,  and  not 
a  little  delight  was  added  to  life  in  those  days  by 
whist,  which  Ivan  Il'ich  now  began  to  play,  having 
the  capacity  of  playing  at  cards  gaily,  with  a  quick 
eye  for  combinations,  and  with  considerable  finesse, 
so  that,  generally  speaking,  he  was  always  on  the 
winning  side. 

After  two  years  of  service  in  the  new  town,  Ivan 
Il'ich  encountered  his  future  wife.  Praskov'ya 
Thedorovna  Mikhel  was  a  most  fascinating,  sensible, 
brilliant  girl,  belonging  to  Ivan  Il'ich's  own  circle. 
In  the  number  of  his  other  pastimes  and  relaxations 
from  the  cares  of  a  magistrate,  Ivan  Il'ich  included 
his  light  and  sportive  relations  with  Praskov'ya 
Thedorovna. 

177  M 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

Ivan  H'ich,  as  a  subordinate  official,  generally- 
danced,  as  a  judge  he  only  danced  on  exceptional 
occasions.  It  was,  as  if  he  said  :  Though  I  have  now 
different  functions,  and  am  in  the  fifth  class,  neverthe- 
less, if  a  dance  must  be  danced,  I  will  show  that  I 
can  do  better  than  others  even  in  that  respect.  So, 
now  and  then,  he  would  dance  of  an  evening  with 
Praskov'ya  Thedorovna,  and  it  was  principally  during 
these  dances  that  he  made  a  conquest  of  Praskov'ya 
Thedorovna.  She  fell  in  love  with  him.  Ivan  Il'ich 
had  no  clear,  fixed  intention  of  marrying ;  but  when 
the  girl  fell  in  love  with  him,  he  put  himself  this 
question  :  "  Why,  indeed,  should  I  not  marry  ?  " 

The  girl,  Praskov'ya  Thedorovna,  was  of  a  good  old 
family,  and  not  bad-looking ;  she  also  had  a  little 
property  of  her  own.  Ivan  Il'ich  might  calculate  on 
making  a  much  more  brilliant  match,  yet  this  was  not 
a  bad  match.  Ivan  Il'ich  had  his  salary,  and  she,  so 
he  reckoned,  had  about  the  same.  Her  family  was 
a  good  one,  and  she  was  a  gentle,  very  pretty,  and 
thoroughly  well-principled  woman.  To  say  that  Ivan 
Il'ich  married  because  he  was  in  love  with  his  fiancee^ 
and  found  in  her  a  sympathy  with  his  views  of  life, 
would  have  been  as  inaccurate  as  to  say  that  he 
married  because  the  people  of  his  circle  had  approved 
of  the  match.  Ivan  Il'ich  married  for  two  reasons  : 
it  was  pleasant  to  him  to  acquire  such  a  wife,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  he  did  what  people  of  the  highest 
position  considered  the  proper  thing  to  do. 

So  Ivan  Il'ich  married. 

The  very  process  of  marriage  and  the  first  period  of 
his  wedded  life,  with  the  conjugal  caresses,  the  new 

1.78 


The  Death  of  Ivan  U'ich 

furniture,  the  new  plate,  the  new  linen,  right  up  to  the 
pregnancy  of  his  wife,  passed  very  well,  so  that  Ivan 
U'ich  really  began  to  think  that  his  marriage  would 
not  interrupt  that  light,  pleasant,  merry,  and  always 
dignified  mode  of  life  approved  of  by  society,  which 
Ivan  U'ich  regarded  as  his  own  proper  life  in  general, 
but  would  even  add  to  its  charms.  But  now,  during 
the  first  months  of  his  wife's  pregnancy,  there  came 
to  light  something  so  new,  unexpected,  unpleasant, 
difficult,  and  unbecoming,  that  he  could  not  have 
anticipated  it  and  never  could  get  over  it. 

His  wife,  without  any  occasion  for  it,  or  so  it 
seemed  to  Ivan  U'ich,  and  from  pure  de  gaite  de  coeuVy 
as  he  phrased  it,  began  to  destroy  the  equilibrium 
and  dignity  of  his  life :  without  the  slightest  cause 
she  began  to  be  jealous,  exacted  the  utmost  attention 
from  him,  tried  to  pick  quarrels  on  all  occasions,  and 
had  unpleasant  and  even  coarse  scenes  with  him. 

At  first  Ivan  U'ich  did  his  best  to  free  himself  from 
the  unpleasantness  of  this  situation  by  adopting  the 
same  easy  and  dignified  way  of  treating  life  in  general 
which  had  served  him  in  such  good  stead  before ;  he 
tried  to  ignore  his  wife's  state  of  mind,  and  continued 
to  live,  as  before,  easily  and  pleasantly  ;  he  invited 
parties  of  friends  to  his  house,  and  tried  going  to  the 
club  and  accepting  invitations  himself  But  his  wife 
on  one  occasion  abused  him  so  coarsely  and  ener- 
getically, and  so  persistently  continued  so  to  abuse 
him  every  time  he  did  not  comply  with  her  demands, 
evidently  determined  not  to  desist  till  he  should  have 
submitted,  or  in  other  words,  should  have  consented 
to  sit  moping  at  home  like  herself,  that  Ivan  U'ich 

179 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

grew  alarmed.  He  understood  now  that  conjugal 
life — at  any  rate,  conjugal  life  with  his  wife — was  not 
always  the  same  thing  as  a  pleasant  and  dignified 
life ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  often  made  such  a  life 
impossible,  and  that,  therefore,  it  was  necessary  to 
compensate  himself  for  the  loss  of  it.  So  Ivan  Il'ich 
began  seeking  such  compensation.  His  official 
position  was  the  part  of  his  life  which  impressed 
Praskov'ya  Thedorovna  the  most,  and  Ivan  Il'ich,  by 
means  of  his  official  position  and  the  obligations 
resulting  therefrom,  began  a  contest  with  his  wife  in 
her  endeavours  to  limit  his  independent  existence. 

The  birth  of  the  infant,  the  various  attempts  to 
nourish  it,  the  various  ensuing  disappointments,  the 
illnesses,  real  and  imaginary,  of  mother  and  child,  in 
all  of  which  Ivan  Il'ich  was  supposed  to  sympathize, 
though  he  knew  nothing  at  all  about  it — all  these 
things  made  it  more  and  more  urgently  necessary  for 
Ivan  Il'ich  to  try  and  form  another  world  for  himself 
quite  outside  the  family  circle. 

Thus,  in  proportion  as  his  wife  became  more  and 
more  irritating  and  exacting,  Ivan  Il'ich  more  and 
more  transferred  the  centre  of  gravity  of  his  existence 
to  his  official  existence.  He  began  to  love  his  office 
still  more,  and  became  more  ambitious  than  he  had 
ever  been  before. 

Very  soon,  not  more  than  a  year  after  his  marriage, 
Ivan  Il'ich  understood  that  marriage,  though  generally 
regarded  as  one  of  the  chief  commodities  of  life,  is  in 
reality  a  very  complicated  and  difficult  affair,  with 
regard  to  which,  if  he  wished  to  do  his  duty,  that  is 
to  say,  lead  the  decent  sort  of  life  approved  of  by 

1 80 


The  Death  of  Ivan  ll'lch 

society,  he  must  take  up  a  definite  position,  as  he  had 
done  in  his  official  life. 

And  Ivan  Il'ich  succeeded  in  taking  up  such 
definite  position  in  his  married  life.  He  required  of 
his  family  life  only  those  domestic  commodities,  e.g.^  a 
dinner,  a  housewife,  a  bed,  etc.,  which  it  was  able  to 
give,  and,  in  particular,  that  decency  of  external 
forms  which  is  desiderated  by  public  opinion.  For 
the  rest  he  looked  for  cheerful  amiability,  and  was 
very  grateful  if  he  found  it.  But  whenever  he  en- 
countered opposition  or  peevishness,  he  immediately 
went  off  to  his  separate,  penned-off  world  of  official 
life,  where  everything  was  pleasant. 

Ivan  Il'ich  was  valued  as  a  good  official,  and  in 
three  years  he  was  made  the  colleague  of  the  pro- 
curator. Fresh  obligations,  their  importance,  the 
power  of  examining  everyone  before  the  tribunal 
and  putting  them  in  prison,  the  publicity  of  his 
speeches,  the  success  which  attended  Ivan  Il'ich  in  his 
new  capacity — all  this  made  the  public  service  still 
more  attractive  to  him. 

Children  continued  to  arrive.  His  wife  grew  still 
more  cross  and  peevish,  but  the  position  which  Ivan 
Il'ich  had  successfully  assumed  with  regard  to  his 
domestic  life  made  him  almost  invulnerable  to  her 
peevishness. 

After  seven  years  of  service  in  one  town,  Ivan  Il'ich 
was  transferred  to  another  government  as  procurator. 
They  migrated  thither ;  there  was  little  money,  and 
his  wife  did  not  like  the  place  to  which  they  had 
been  transferred.  The  salary  was  larger,  indeed, 
than  before,  but  living  was  also  dearer ;  moreover, 

i8i 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

two  of  their  children  died,  and  therefore  family  life 
became  still  more  unpleasant  to  Ivan  ll'ich. 

Praskov'ya   Thedorovna,    in    this    new    place,    re- 
proached her  husband  for  every  little  mishap  which 
happened.     The  greater  part  of  the  subjects  of  con- 
versation between  the  husband  and  wife,  especially  the 
education  of  the  children,  led  to  debates  bordering 
on  quarrels,  and  quarrels  were  ready  to  burst  forth 
every   moment.       There   remained    only   those   rare 
periods    of    reviving    affection    which    all    consorts 
experience  from  time  to  time,  but  which  do  not  last 
long.      These  were  islets  on  which  they  rested  for 
a  time,  only  to  embark  again  on  the  sea  of  covert 
hatred,  which  expressed  itself  in  a  mutual  alienation. 
This  alienation  might  have  grieved  Ivan  H'ich  if  he 
had  considered  that  it  ought  not  to  be,  but  by  this 
time   he   had   come   to  recognise  this  situation  not 
only  as  normal,  but  as  the  aim  of  his  domestic  exis- 
tence.   For  it  had  now  become  his  aim  to  free  himself 
more  and  more  from  these  unpleasantnesses,  and  give 
them  an  inoffensive  and   decent  character ;    and  he 
achieved  his  aim  by  spending  less  and  less  time  in  his 
family,  and  when  he  was  forced  to  be  there,  he  tried 
to  alleviate  his  position  by  the  presence  of  strangers. 
Ivan  irich's  chief  comfort  was  that  he  had  his  official 
employment.     In  the  official  world  the  whole  interest 
of  his    life    was    concentrated.      And    this    interest 
smoothed  matters  for  him.     The  consciousness  of  his 
authority,  of  the  power  he  had  to  ruin  every  man  he 
wanted    to   ruin,   even  the   external    dignity   of  his 
entrance  into  Court,  and  his  dealings  with  his  sub- 
ordinates,  his   success  before  his  superiors  and  his 

182 


The  Death  of  Ivan  H'ich 

subordinates,  and,  the  main  thing,  his  masterly  con- 
duct of  affairs,  of  which  he  was  quite  sensible — all  this 
delighted  him,  and  together  with  his  intercourse  with 
his  colleagues,  dinners,  and  whist,  quite  filled  up  his 
life.  So,  in  general,  the  life  of  Ivan  H'ich  continued 
to  go  on,  as  he  thought  it  should  go  on,  pleasantly  and 
becomingly. 

Thus,  then,  he  continued  to  live  for  seven  years. 
His  eldest  daughter  was  already  sixteen  ;  one  more 
child  had  died,  and  there  remained  a  little  boy,  a 
gy mnasiast,  the  object  of  discord.  Ivan  H'ich  wanted 
to  devote  him  to  jurisprudence,  and  Praskov'ya 
Thedorovna,  to  spite  him,  sent  him  to  the  gym- 
nasium. The  daughter  was  educated  at  home,  and 
promised  well  ;  the  lad  also  did  not  do  amiss  with 
his  studies. 

III. 

Thus  proceeded  the  life  of  Ivan  H'ich  for  the  space 
of  seventeen  years  from  the  time  of  his  marriage.  He 
was  already  an  old  procurator  who  had  rejected 
several  offers,  because  he  was  expecting  a  more 
desirable  post,  when  unexpectedly  something  dis- 
agreeable happened  which  completely  ruined  his 
tranquil  existence.  Ivan  H'ich  was  expecting  the 
post  of  chief  assessor  in  a  university  town,  but  a 
Mr.  Goppe  had  been  too  quick  for  him,  and  got  the 
place  instead.  Ivan  H'ich  was  very  angry ;  he 
began  to  make  reproaches,  and  quarrel  with  him  and 
with  his  immediate  superiors ;  a  coldness  sprang  up 
between  them,  and  at  the  next  vacancy  he  was  again 
passed  over. 

183 


IVIope  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

This  was  in  the  year  1880.  This  particular  year 
was  a  very  heavy  one  in  the  life  of  Ivan  Il'ich.  In 
this  year,  it  appeared,  on  the  one  hand,  that  his  salary 
was  not  sufficient  to  live  upon  ;  and,  on  the  other  hand, 
everyone  seemed  to  ignore  him,  and,  greatest,  most 
cruel  injustice  of  all  from  his  point  of  view,  his 
situation  seemed  to  others  to  be  quite  what  it  ought 
to  be.  Even  his  father  considered  himself  under  no 
obligation  to  assist  him.  He  had  a  feeling  that  they 
were  all  deserting  him,  considering  his  position,  with 
a  salary  of  3,500  roubles,  quite  normal,  and  even  a 
lucky  one.  He  alone  knew,  what  with  the  injustice 
that  was  being  done  him,  and  with  the  eternal  jarrings 
of  his  wife,  and  with  the  debts  he  was  beginning  to 
make,  living,  as  he  did,  beyond  his  means — he  alone 
knew  that  his  position  was  far  from  normal. 

In  the  summer  of  this  year,  in  order  to  economize, 
he  took  leave  of  absence,  and  went  to  spend  the 
summer  with  his  wife  in  the  country  at  the  house 
of  Praskov'ya  Thedorovna's  brother. 

Out  of  service  in  the  country,  Ivan  Il'ich,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  experienced  not  merely  ennui, 
but  an  unendurable  depression,  and  arrived  at  the 
conclusion  that  to  live  like  this  was  impossible,  and 
that  it  was  indispensable  for  him  to  adopt  some 
decisive  measure  at  once. 

After  passing  a  sleepless  night,  the  whole  of  which 
Ivan  Il'ich  spent  on  the  terrace,  he  resolved  to  go  to 
St.  Petersburg,  and  try  to  get  transferred  into  another 
Ministry,  in  order  to  punish  those  persons  who  did  not 
appreciate  him. 

On  the  following  day,  despite  all  the  remonstrances 
184 


The  Death  of  Ivan  H'ich 

of  his  wife  and  brother-in-law,  he  went  to  St.  Peters- 
burg. 

He  went  for  one  special  purpose :  to  solicit  a  post 
with  a  salary  of  5,000  roubles.  He  was  not  par- 
ticular about  the  Ministry,  or  its  tendencies,  or  the 
sort  of  work  required  from  him.  All  he  wanted  was 
the  post — a  post  worth  5,000  roubles,  either  in  the 
Administrative  Services,  or  in  a  bank,  or  a  railway,  or 
in  connection  with  the  charitable  institutions  of  the 
Empress  Mary,  or  even  in  the  Customs — but  the 
5,000  salary  was  indispensable,  and  he  was  un- 
alterably resolved  to  quit  the  Ministry  where  they 
did  not  appreciate  him. 

And  behold  !  this  excursion  of  Ivan  Il'ich  was 
crowned  by  amazing,  unlooked-for  success.  In 
Kursk,  Th.  S.  Ilin,  an  acquaintance  of  Ivan  Il'ich, 
was  promoted  to  the  first  class,  and  he  communicated 
by  telegram  to  the  Governor  of  Kursk  that  a  series 
of  changes  was  impending  just  then  in  the  Ministry 
to  which  he  belonged,  Ivan  Semenovich  succeeding 
to  the  post  of  Peter  Ivanovich. 

The  projected  change,  besides  its  importance  for 
Russia,  had  a  particular  significance  for  Ivan  Il'ich, 
inasmuch  as  the  newly  promoted  personage,  Peter 
Petrovich,  and  evidently  his  friend,  Zakhar  Ivano- 
vich, were  in  the  highest  degree  favourable  to  Ivan 
irich,  and  Zakhar  Ivanovich  was,  moreover,  a  friend 
and  colleague  of  Ivan  Il'ich. 

In  Moscow  the  report  was  confirmed,  and  on 
arriving  at  St.  Petersburg  Ivan  Il'ich  met  Zakhar 
Ivanovich,  and  received  the  promise  of  a  safe  place  in 
his  former  Ministry,  the  Ministry  of  Justice. 

18S 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

In  a  week  he  telegraphed  to  his  wife  : 

"Zakhar  post  of  Miller  on  first  announcement  I 
receive  the  nomination." 

Ivan  Il'ich,  thanks  to  this  change  of  persons,  un- 
expectedly received  in  his  former  Ministry  such  an 
important  place  that  he  stood  two  degrees  higher 
than  his  colleagues  :  a  salary  of  5,000,  and  travel- 
ling fees  to  the  amount  of  3,000  more.  All  his  rage 
against  his  former  enemies  and  against  the  whole 
Ministry  was  forgotten,  and  Ivan  Il'ich  was  com- 
pletely happy. 

Ivan  Il'ich  returned  to  the  country  more  cheerful 
and  contented  than  he  had  been  for  a  long  time. 
Praskov'ya  Thedorovna  was  also  pleased,  and  a  truce 
was  concluded  between  them.  Ivan  Il'ich  had  a  lot 
to  tell  about  the  respect  with  which  he  had  been 
treated  at  St.  Petersburg,  and  how  all  they  who  had 
been  his  enemies  had  been  humbled  and  now 
crouched  before  him  ;  how  he  was  envied  his  new 
position,  and  especially  how  very  much  they  all  loved 
him  at  St.  Petersburg. 

Praskov'ya  Thedorovna  listened  to  all  this,  and 
made  as  if  she  believed  it,  and  did  not  contradict  him 
in  anything,  but  was  busy  all  the  time  making  her  own 
plans  about  the  new  style  of  life  they  should  live  in 
the  city  to  which  they  had  thus  been  transferred  ;  and 
Ivan  Il'ich  perceived  with  joy  that  these  plans  were 
his  plans,  that  they  agreed  together,  and  that  his 
thwarted  life  had  reacquired  a  bright  and  genuine 
pleasantness  and  dignity  corresponding  with  his 
wishes. 

Ivan  Il'ich  arrived  in  the  capital  very  shortly.  He 
186 


i 


The  Death  of  Ivan  ll'ich 

had  to  assume  his  new  office  on  September  loth,  and 
besides  that  he  required  a  little  time  to  settle  in  his 
new  home,  to  remove  all  his  things  from  the  country, 
to  buy  things  that  were  wanted,  and  see  to  a  good 
many  other  things  ;  in  a  word,  to  establish  himself  as 
he  had  already  made  up  his  mind  to  do,  and  as 
Praskhov'ya  Tedorovna  had  resolved  to  do  likewise. 

And  now  when  everything  had  been  arranged  so 
comfortably,  and  when  he  and  his  wife  had  once  more 
but  one  common  object  before  them,  and,  despite  the 
fact  that  they  lived  very  little  together,  harmonised 
more  amicably  than  they  had  ever  done  since  the 
first  year  of  their  marriage,  Ivan  ITich  thought 
of  removing  his  family  at  once  ;  but  his  sister  and 
brother-in-law,  who  had  suddenly  become  particularly 
friendly  and  kinsmanlike  towards  Ivan  ll'ich,  would 
not  hear  of  it,  so  Ivan  ll'ich  had  to  depart  by  himself. 

Ivan  ll'ich  departed  then,  and  the  happy  frame 
of  mind  produced  by  his  success  and  his  harmonious 
relations  with  his  wife,  each  stimulating  the  other, 
never  quitted  him  the  whole  time.  He  hit  upon 
excellent  quarters,  the  sort  of  dwelling  he  and  his 
wife  had  long  been  dreaming  about.  Lofty,  spacious 
reception  rooms  in  the  old  style,  a  convenient 
grandiose  cabinet,  rooms  for  his  wife  and  daughter, 
a  class  room  for  his  son — as  if  expressly  designed  for 
them.  Ivan  ll'ich  himself  undertook  all  the  arrange- 
ments, selected  the  carpets,  bought  the  furniture — old- 
fashioned  furniture  in  particular,  which  (he  took  care  of 
that)  was  in  a  particularly  cornnie  il  faut  style — and 
the  coverings  of  the  furniture,  and  it  all  grew  and 
grew  into  the  ideal  which  he  had  set  his  mind  on 

187 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

attaining.  When  half  his  arrangements  were  com- 
pleted, the  general  effect  far  exceeded  his  expectations. 
It  presented  that  comnie  il  faut,  elegant,  and  uncom- 
mon character  which  satisfies  every  requisite  when  it  is 
finished.  In  his  slumbers  he  pictured  to  himself  the 
drawing-room  as  it  was  going  to  be.  Looking  at 
the  reception  room,  still  incomplete,  he  already  beheld 
the  chimneypiece,  the  ecran^  the  etagere^  those  little 
chairs  scattered  about  the  room,  those  plates  and 
plaques  on  the  walls,  and  the  bronzes  when  they 
should  all  be  in  their  places.  The  thought  pleased 
him  how  he  would  surprise  Pasha  and  Lizan'ka, 
both  of  whom  had  taste  in  these  matters.  They  never 
expected  anything  like  this.  He  had,  in  particular, 
succeeded  in  discovering  and  buying  cheap  old  things 
which  gave  to  everything  a  particularly  distinguished 
character.  In  his  letters  he  purposely  described 
everything  as  worse  than  it  really  was,  in  order  to 
surprise  them  the  more.  All  this  occupied  him  so 
much  that  even  his  new  post,  much  as  he  loved  it, 
interested  him  far  less  than  he  had  anticipated.  At 
the  sessions  he  attended  he  frequently  had  fits  of 
absent-mindedness  ;  he  was  thinking  all  the  time 
whether  the  curtain-cornices  were  plain  or  ornamental. 
He  was  so  taken  up  with  this  thought  that  he  fre- 
quently took  the  trouble  to  rearrange  the  furniture 
and^hang  the  curtains  over  again.  Once,  when  he 
had  mounted  a  ladder  to  show  the  unintelligent 
curtain-hanger  how  he  wished  the  curtains  draped, 
he  stumbled  and  fell,  but  being  vigorous  and  alert 
he  managed  to  keep  his  feet,  simply  knocking  his  side 
against  the  handle  of  a  frame.     The  bruise  hurt  him 

i88 


The  Death  of  Ivan  ll'ich 

a  little,  but  the  pain  soon  passed  off.  All  this  time, 
indeed,  Ivan  H'ich  felt  particularly  bright  and  well. 
He  wrote  :  "  I  feel  that  fifteen  of  my  years  have  leaped 
from  off  my  shoulders."  He  thought  he  should  have 
finished  in  September,  but  the  business  dragged  on 
till  the  middle  of  October.  By  way  of  compensation, 
it  was  also  most  excellent ;  it  was  not  only  he  that 
said  it,  everyone  who  saw  it  told  him  that  it  was  so. 

In  reality,  it  was  the  same  with  him  as  it  is 
with  all  not  very  rich  people  who  wish  to  imitate 
the  rich,  and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  only  imitate  one 
another :  silk  stuffs,  black  wood,  flowers,  carpets, 
and  bronzes,  dark  and  shining,  all  that  sort  of  thing 
which  all  persons  of  a  certain  class  do  in  order  to 
resemble  all  other  persons  of  the  same  class.  And 
with  him,  too,  it  was  all  so  much  alike  that  there 
was  absolutely  nothing  to  attract  attention,  yet  to 
him  it  all  seemed  something  especial.  When  he  met 
his  family  at  the  railway  station,  he  conducted  them 
to  his  illuminated,  ready  prepared  quarters,  and  a 
lackey  in  a  white  choker  opened  the  door  leading 
into  the  flower-bedizened  vestibule,  and  then  they 
proceeded  into  the  reception  room  and  the  cabinet, 
and  ah'd  and  oh'd  with  satisfaction  ;  and  he  felt  very 
happy,  and  guided  them  everywhere,  imbibed  their 
praises,  and  was  radiant  with  satisfaction.  That  same 
evening,  after  tea,  Praskov'ya  Thedorovna  asked  him, 
among  other  things,  how  he  had  come  to  fall,  and  he 
laughed  and  explained  by  pantomime  how  he  had 
come  flying  through  the  air,  and  had  frightened  the 
curtain-hanger. 

"I  have  not  been  a  gymnast  for  nothing,  anyone 
189 


Mope  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

else  would  have  been  killed,  and  I  merely  struck 
myself  here  ;  if  you  touch  it  it  pains,  but  it  is  passing 
away  already,  it  is  a  simple  bruise." 

And  they  began  to  live  in  their  new  dwelling  in 
which,  as  always  happens  when  one  has  had  time 
to  turn  round  in  a  new  house,  they  discovered  that  all 
they  now  really  wanted  was  one  more  room,  and  if 
they  only  had  more  means — for,  as  usual,  they  now 
discovered  that  their  income  was  short  of  a  trifle  of 
some  500  roubles — everything  would  be  very  well 
indeed.  Especially  pleasant  was  the  first  period  of 
their  residence  in  the  new  house,  when  everything 
was  not  quite  complete,  and  a  finishing  touch  had  to 
be  added  or  something  had  to  be  bought,  or  ordered, 
or  re-arranged,  or  set  to  rights.  And  although  there 
were  some  disagreements  between  husband  and  wife, 
both  of  them  were  so  contented,  and  there  was  so 
much  to  be  done,  that  the  difference  was  always 
adjusted  without  any  great  quarrel.  When,  how- 
ever, there  was  nothing  more  to  be  done,  things 
began  to  be  a  little  dull,  and  one  or  two  little  wants 
were  felt,  but  by  this  time  acquaintances  were  made, 
habits  were  formed,  and  life  was  full  of  its  occupations. 

Ivan  Il'ich,  after  spending  the  morning  in  Court, 
would  return  to  dinner,  and  at  first  his  spirits  were 
good,  though  he  suffered  a  little  from  the  worries  of  a 
new  domicile.  Every  spot  on  the  table-cloth,  on  the 
silk  stuffs,  a  ragged  tassle  in  the  curtains — all  these 
little  things  irritated  him.  He  had  spent  so  much 
labour  on  his  household  arrangements  that  every 
derangement  of  them  was  painful  to  him.  Yet,  on 
the  whole,  the  life  of  Ivan  Il'ich  passed  as,  accord- 

190 


The  Death  of  Ivan  ll'ich 

ing  to  his  belief,  life  ought  to  pass — easily,  gaily, 
becomingly.  He  rose  at  nine,  drank  his  coffee,  read 
his  "Gazette,"  put  on  his  demi-uniform,  and  went 
to  Court  Here  was  piled  up  the  harness  in  which 
he  worked,  and  he  readily  adjusted  himself  to  it. 
Petitioners,  interrogatories  in  Court,  the  Court  itself, 
sessions — public  and  administrative.  In  dealing  with 
all  this  business,  one  had  to  know  how  to  exclude 
everything  crude — everything  relating  to  life  in  the 
concrete — things  which  always  impede  the  regular 
course  of  official  affairs.  It  was  necessary  to  guard 
against  entering  into  anything  but  strictly  official 
relations  with  people,  and  official  relations  had  to  be 
the  one  occasion  for  any  dealings  with  them  at  all, 
and  the  relations  themselves  could  be  only  official. 
For  instance,  a  man  might  come  and  desire  to  be 
informed  about  something.  Ivan  H'ich  could  have  no 
relations  with  such  an  individual  except  in  his  official 
capacity  ;  but  if  his  relations  with  this  man  were 
official,  and  the  terms  of  them  were  such  as  could  be 
expressed  on  headed  official  paper,  then  within  the 
limits  of  such  official  relations  Ivan  ll'ich  would  do 
all  in  his  power  for  the  man,  and  do  it  most  emphati- 
cally, and  at  the  same  time  observe  the  form  of  humane 
and  friendly  intercourse  in  the  shape  of  politeness. 
Every  cessation  of  intercourse  carried  with  it  the 
cessation  of  every  other  sort  of  intercourse.  The 
capacity  of  isolating  the  official  side  of  his  character, 
so  that  it  never  interfered  with  his  real  life,  was 
possessed  by  Ivan  ll'ich  in  the  highest  degree,  and 
long  practice,  combined  with  talent,  enabled  him  to 
carry  it  out  to  such  a  degree  that  sometimes  he  even 

191 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

permitted  himself,  as  a  virtuoso,  and  by  way  of  jest, 
to  intermingle  his  human  and  his  official  relations. 
He  indulged  himself  this  way  because  he  felt  within 
himself  the  power,  whenever  he  pleased,  to  make 
himself  purely  official  again,  and  reject  the  human 
element.  Ivan  Il'ich  managed  this  not  only  easily, 
pleasantly,  and  becomingly,  but  even  artistically. 
In  the  intervals  of  business  he  smoked,  drank  tea, 
talked  a  little  about  politics,  a  little  about  affairs  in 
general,  a  little  about  cards,  and  more  than  all  about 
official  nominations.  And  wearied,  but  with  the 
feeling  of  a  virtuoso  playing  his  part — first  violin  in 
the  orchestra — to  perfection,  he  would  then  return 
home.  At  home  he  would  find,  perhaps,  that  his 
wife  and  daughter  had  gone  out  somewhere,  or  they 
had  visitors ;  his  son  was  at  the  gymnasium  or  pre- 
paring his  lessons  with  his  tutor,  and  getting  up 
what  is  usually  taught  at  gymnasiums.  It  was  all 
very  good.  After  dinner,  if  there  were  no  guests, 
Ivan  Il'ich  would  read  a  book  which  might  happen 
to  be  much  talked  about,  and  in  the  evening  would 
settle  down  to  business,  that  is  to  say,  would  read 
papers,  refer  to  the  statutes,  compare  statements,  and 
put  them  under  their  proper  rubrics.  This  occupation 
neither  bored  nor  amused  him.  If  he  felt  bored  it 
was  possible  to  play  at  vint^  but  if  there  was  no 
vint^  business  was  always  preferable  to  sitting  alone 
with  his  wife  with  nothing  to  do.  Ivan  Il'ich's  chief 
delights  were  the  little  dinners  to  which  he  invited 
men  and  women  of  high  position  in  the  world,  and 
the  intercourse  he  then  had  with  such  persons,  though 
as  for  them  it  was  what  they  were  used  to  every  day, 

192 


The  Death  of  Ivan  M'ich 

for  Ivan  H'ich's  drawing-room  was  just  like  any  other 
drawing-room. 

On  one  occasion  they  even  had  an  evening  party 
with  dancing.  And  Ivan  Il'ich  was  very  happy,  and 
everything  went  off  very  well,  except  for  a  great 
quarrel  with  his  wife  about  the  pastry  and  sweets. 
Praskov'ya  Thedorovna  had  her  own  plans,  but  Ivan 
Il'ich  insisted  upon  getting  everything  from  a  good 
pastry  cook,  and  ordered  a  lot  of  pastry,  and  the 
quarrel  arose  because  a  lot  of  tarts  remained  over, 
and  the  pastry  cook's  account  came  to  forty-five 
roubles.  The  quarrel  was  a  big  quarrel,  and  very 
unpleasant,  because  Praskov'ya  Thedorovna  said  : 
"  You're  a  silly  fool."  And  he  clutched  hold  of  his 
head,  and  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart  he  seriously 
thought  for  a  moment  or  two  of  a  separation.  But 
the  evening  itself  was  a  happy  one.  The  best  society 
was  present,  and  Ivan  Il'ich  danced  with  the  Princess 
Trufinova,  the  sister  of  the  foundress  of  the  celebrated 
charitable  institution  :  "  Take  thou  away  my  grief" 
His  official  delights  were  the  delights  of  pride,  his 
official  delights  were  the  delights  of  vanity,  but  the 
real  joys  of  Ivan  Il'ich  were  the  joys  of  playing  at 
vint.  He  confessed  that  after  all,  and  despite  what- 
ever unpleasantness  there  might  be  in  his  life,  the 
joy  which  like  a  light  burned  before  all  others  was 
to  sit  down  with  good  players  and  amiable  partners 
at  vint^  four-handed,  vint  of  course  (five-handed  vint 
did  not  do  nearly  so  well,  though  Ivan  Il'ich  pre- 
tended that  he  loved  that  too),  and  to  play  a  sensible, 
serious  game  (when  you  had  a  good  hand),  and  then 
to  have  supper  and  drink  a  glass  of  wine.     And  when 

193  N 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

he  went  to  bed  after  vint,  especially  when  he  had  won 
a  little  (it  was  unpleasant  to  win  a  good  deal),  Ivan 
Il'ich  would  lie  down  to  sleep  in  particularly  good 
spirits. 

Thus  they  lived.  The  very  best  circle  formed 
around  them,  and  important  people  and  young  people 
were  among  their  visitors. 

As  regards  the  circle  of  their  acquaintances,  hus- 
band, wife,  and  daughter  were  quite  agreed,  and  by 
tacit  consent  they  shook  off  and  rid  themselves  of 
all  former  various  acquaintances  and  kinsfolks — the 
rabble,  so  to  speak,  who,  along  with  the  new  people, 
flitted  about  the  drawing-room  with  the  new  Japanese 
plaques  on  the  walls.  Very  soon  the  second-rate 
friends  ceased  altogether  to  flit  about  their  drawing- 
room,  and  only  the  very  best  people  frequented  the 
house  of  the  Golivins.  Young  people  came  courting 
little  Lizanka,*  and  Petrishchev,  the  son  of  Dmitry 
Ivanovich  Petrishchev,  the  judge,  and  his  sole  heir, 
began  to  pay  attention  to  Liza,  so  that  Ivan  Il'ich 
already  began  to  consult  Praskov'ya  Thedorovna  as 
to  whether  they  should  let  them  go  out  driving 
together  in  a  troika,  or  make  a  scene?  Thus  they 
continued  to  live.  And  everything  went  on  as  if  it 
would  ever  be  so,  and  everything  was  very  good. 

IV. 

They  were  all  well.  Ivan  Il'ich  sometimes  said 
indeed  that  he  had  a  bad  taste  in  his  mouth,  and 
something  was  not  quite  right,  but  one  could  hardly 
call  that  illness. 

*  Little  Liza. 
194 


The  Death  of  Ivan  I  rich 

But  this  little  indisposition  happened  to  increase, 
and  passed,  not  yet  into  downright  illness,  but  into  a 
feeling  of  constant  oppression  in  the  side,  accompanied 
by  lowness  of  spirits.  This  lowness  of  spirits  kept  on 
increasing  and  increasing,  and  began  to  destroy  that 
easy,  pleasant,  and  decorous  manner  of  life  which  had 
become  an  institution  in  the  family  of  the  Golivins. 
The  husband  and  wife  began  to  wrangle  more  and 
more  frequently,  and  soon  all  ease  and  pleasantness 
fell  away  from  them,  and  decorum  alone  remained, 
and  that  was  only  preserved  with  the  greatest 
difficulty.  Scenes  again  became  more  and  more 
frequent  between  them,  and  at  last  there  were  only 
rare  occasions  when  the  husband  and  wife  could  meet 
together  without  an  open  rupture.  And  Praskov'ya 
Thedorovna  said,  and  now  not  without  reason,  that 
her  husband  was  very  difficult  to  get  on  with.  With 
her  customary  habit  of  exaggeration,  she  maintained 
that  he  had  always  had  a  frightful  temper,  and  that 
it  was  only  her  good  nature  that  had  enabled  her  to 
put  up  with  it  for  these  twenty  years.  It  was  true 
that  now,  at  any  rate,  he  was  the  first  to  begin  to 
quarrel.  His  peevishness  always  began  before  dinner, 
and  often,  and  especially  just  when  he  had  begun  to 
eat,  after  the  soup,  for  instance.  He  would  then 
remark  that  this  dish  or  that  was  spoilt,  and  did  not 
taste  as  it  ought  to  taste,  or  his  son  would  put  his 
elbows  on  the  table,  or  his  daughter's  hair  was 
untidy.  And  he  blamed  Praskov'ya  Thedorovna  for 
everything.  At  first,  Praskov'ya  Thedorovna  was 
offended,  and  said  unpleasant  things  to  him,  but  once 
or  twice  at  the  beginning  of  dinner  he  had  flown  into 

195 


Mor»e  Tales  fpom  Tolstoi 

such  a  rage  that  she  understood  that  this  was  a  morbid 
condition  which  expressed  itself  in  him  whenever  he 
partook  of  food,  so  she  calmed  herself,  ceased  to  be 
irritated,  and  merely  hastened  to  finish  the  meal 
as  soon  as  possible.  Praskov'ya  Thedorovna  made  a 
very  great  merit  of  her  meekness.  Having  arrived 
at  the  conclusion  that  her  husband  had  a  frightful 
temper,  and  was  making  her  life  wretched,  she 
began  to  pity  herself  And  the  more  she  pitied 
herself,  the  more  she  hated  her  husband.  She  began 
to  wish  that  he  would  die,  but  she  could  not  wish  this 
because  then  there  would  be  no  salary.  And  this 
irritated  her  still  more  against  him.  She  accounted 
herself  dreadfully  miserable,  principally  because  even 
his  death  would  be  no  deliverance  for  her,  and  it 
irritated  her  to  conceal  this  feeling,  and  this  hidden 
irritation  still  further  increased  her  irritation  at  him. 

After  one  of  these  scenes,  in  which  Ivan  Il'ich  had 
been  particularly  unjust,  and  after  which  he  said, 
by  way  of  explanation,  that  he  had  certainly  been 
irritable,  but  that  it  was  because  he  did  not  feel  well, 
she  said  to  him  that  if  he  were  ill  he  ought  to  be 
cured,  and  insisted  that  he  should  go  and  see  a 
famous  doctor. 

He  went.  Everything  turned  out  just  as  he  had 
expected,  everything  was  as  it  always  is.  And  the 
expectation  and  the  intrinsic  importance  of  the  doctor, 
an  acquaintance  of  his,  was  the  same  sort  of  thing 
which  he  knew  by  experience  in  the  Courts,  and  the 
tapping  and  the  auscultations,  and  the  questions, 
demanding  foregone  and  obviously  unnecessary 
answers,    and    the     doctor's    look     of    importance, 

196 


The  Death  of  Ivan  I  rich 

suggesting :  Look  here,  my  dear  sir,  you  just  rely 
upon  us,  and  we'll  put  everything  to  rights ;  we 
know  all  about  it,  and  will  undoubtedly  put  everything 
to  rights  in  one  and  the  same  way  for  everybody  you 
like,  no  matter  who  he  is — the  whole  process  was 
just  the  same  as  it  was  in  the  Law  Courts.  Just  as 
he  in  the  Law  Courts  put  on  an  impressive  air  with 
his  subordinates,  so  also  did  the  famous  doctor  put 
on  an  impressive  air  with  him. 

The  doctor  said  :  "  So  and  so  and  so  and  so  proves 
that  so  and  so  and  so  and  so  is  the  matter  with  your 
inside,  but  if  this  is  not  confirmed  by  the  examination 
of  so  and  so  and  so,  then  it  is  necessary  to  assume  so 
and  so  and  so  and  so.  If,  then,  we  assume  so  and  so 
and  so  and  so,  then  of  course  " — and  so  on  and  so  on. 
So  far  as  Ivan  Il'ich  was  concerned,  only  a  single 
question  was  of  any  importance :  "  Is  my  con- 
dition dangerous  or  not  ? "  But  the  doctor  alto- 
gether ignored  this  inconvenient  question.  From  the 
doctor's  point  of  view,  this  question  was  a  silly  one, 
and  not  under  consideration  ;  the  balancing  of  con- 
tingencies was  all  that  existed  for  him — kidney 
complaint,  chronic  catarrh,  and  diseases  of  the  lower 
gut,  for  instance.  It  was  no  question  of  the  life  of 
Ivan  Il'ich,  but  it  was  a  dispute  as  between  the 
kidneys  and  the  intestines.  And  this  dispute  the 
doctor,  in  the  most  brilliant  fashion,  before  Ivan 
Il'ich's  very  eyes,  decided  in  favour  of  the  intestines, 
at  the  same  time  making  a  reservation  to  the  effect 
that  an  examination  of  his  urine  might  furnish  fresh 
indications,  and  that  then  the  affair  would  be 
thoroughly   investigated.     All   this   was   to   an  iota 

197 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

exactly  the  same  sort  of  thing  that  Ivan  Il'ich  himself 
had  done  thousands  of  times  in  the  same  brilliant 
manner  when  he  had  had  to  do  with  persons  before 
the  Court.  The  doctor  made  his  resum^  just  as 
brilliantly,  and  triumphantly,  nay,  even  gaily  regarded 
the  doomed  man  over  his  spectacles.  From  the 
doctor's  resmnS  Ivan  Il'ich  drew  the  conclusion  that 
he  was  in  a  bad  way,  and  that  to  the  doctor,  alas ! 
and  to  everyone  else  it  was  all  one,  but  that  he,  Ivan 
Il*ich,  was  certainly  in  a  bad  way.  And  this  infer- 
ence morbidly  affected  Ivan  Il'ich,  exciting  within  him 
a  feeling  of  great  pity  for  himself,  and  of  great  anger 
against  the  doctor  who  could  be  so  indifferent  in  such 
an  important  question. 

But  he  said  nothing,  but  got  up,  laid  his  money 
on  the  table,  and  remarked  with  a  sigh  :  "  We  sick 
people,  no  doubt,  often  ask  you  doctors  untimely 
questions,  but  tell  me  now,  plainly,  is  this  illness 
dangerous  or  not  ? " 

The  doctor  regarded  him  severely  with  one  eye 
through  his  spectacles,  as  if  he  would  say  :  Prisoner 
at  the  bar,  if  you  do  not  keep  within  the  strict  limits 
of  regularly  prescribed  questions,  I  shall  be  obliged  to 
take  measures  for  your  removal  from  the  Court. 

"I  have  already  told  you  what  I  considered 
necessary  and  befitting,"  said  the  doctor.  "  An 
examination  will  show  us  anything  further."  And 
the  doctor  bowed. 

Ivan  H'ich  left  the  house  slowly,  sat  down  wearily 
in  his  sledge,  and  went  home.  All  the  way  there  he 
never  ceased  pondering  over  what  the  doctor  had  said, 
trying  to  translate  all  those  involved,  obscure,  scientific 

198 


The  Death  of  Ivan  IPich 

sentences  into  simple  language,  and  read  into  them 
an  answer  to  the  question  :  Am  I  in  a  bad  way — a 
very  bad  way — or  is  it  nothing  after  all  ?  And  it 
seemed  to  him  that  the  meaning  of  all  that  the  doctor 
had  said  was  that  he  was  in  a  bad  way.  Everything 
in  the  streets  struck  Ivan  Il'ich  as  miserable.  The 
coachmen  were  miserable,  the  houses  were  miserable, 
the  passengers  and  the  shops  were  miserable.  This 
pain — this  dull,  dumb  pain,  never  ceasing  for  an  instant, 
seemed,  taken  in  connection  with  the  enigmatical 
words  of  the  doctor,  to  have  acquired  a  fresh  and 
far  more  serious  significance.  And  Ivan  Il'ich  now 
listened  to  it  with  a  new  and  heavy  feeling. 

He  got  home,  and  told  his  wife  all  about  it.  His 
wife  listened,  but  in  the  middle  of  their  conversation 
his  daughter  came  in  with  her  hat  on ;  she  had 
arranged  to  go  out  with  her  mother.  With  an  effort 
she  prevailed  upon  herself  to  sit  down  and  listen  to 
this  tiresome  affair,  but  did  not  stay  long,  and  her 
mother  even  did  not  hear  it  to  the  end. 

"  Well,  I'm  very  glad,"  said  his  wife,  "  that  now  you 
will  take  medicine  regularly.  Give  me  the  prescrip- 
tion, I'll  send  Gerasim  to  the  chemist."  And  she 
went  away  to  dress. 

He  scarce  breathed  so  long  as  she  was  there,  but 
when  she  went  out  he  drew  a  deep  sigh. 

"  Well,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  possibly  it's  nothing 
yet,  after  all." 

He  began  to  take  the  medicine,  and  followed  the 
directions  of  the  doctor,  which  were  modified  in 
consequence  of  the  examination  of  the  urine.  But, 
on  one  occasion,   it   so   happened   that   during   this 

199 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

examination,  and  in  what  ought  to  have  been  the 
course  of  procedure  after  it,  some  blunder,  some 
confusion  took  place.  It  was  impossible  to  get  at 
the  doctor,  and  it  turned  out  that  something  had 
been  done  which  the  doctor  hadn't  ordered.  Either 
he  had  forgotten,  or  lied,  or  hidden  something  from 
him. 

Nevertheless,  Ivan  Il'ich  continued  to  follow  the 
doctor's  prescriptions  all  the  same,  and  in  so  doing 
found  for  a  time  some  relief 

The  principal  occupation  of  Ivan  Il'ich,  ever  since 
his  visit  to  the  doctor,  was  the  exact  observance  of 
the  doctor's  prescriptions  as  regards  hygiene,  the 
taking  of  drugs,  and  close  attention  to  his  malady 
and  the  whole  mechanism  of  his  organism.  The 
chief  interests  of  Ivan  Il'ich  were  people's  diseases 
and  people's  healths.  When  they  spoke  about  ill- 
nesses in  his  presence,  or  of  people  who  were  dying, 
or  of  wonderful  cures,  or  especially  of  the  disease 
from  which  he  was  suffering,  he,  trying  all  the  time  to 
conceal  his  emotion,  listened  eagerly,  asked  questions, 
and  applied  the  answers  he  got  to  his  own  case. 

His  pain  did  not  diminish,  but  Ivan  Il'ich  did 
violence  to  his  own  convictions  in  order  to  persuade 
himself  that  he  was  better.  And  he  was  able  to 
deceive  himself  so  long  as  nothing  excited  him.  But 
no  sooner  did  he  have  any  unpleasantness  with  his 
wife,  or  any  official  bother,  or  bad  cards  at  vint^ 
then  immediately  he  felt  the  full  force  of  his  illness. 
Formerly,  he  had  put  up  with  these  little  mishaps, 
and  struggled  against  them,  waiting  for  things  to 
right  themselves,  and  for  better  luck  ;  but  now  every 

200 


contretemps  noored  him,  and  drove  him  to  utter 
despair.  He  would  say  to  himself:  "Look  there, 
now  !  no  sooner  do  I  feel  a  little  better,  no  sooner  does 
the  medicine  begin  to  have  a  good  effect,  than  this 
cursed  misadventure  or  unpleasantness  comes  along 
and  spoils  everything.  .  .  ."  And  he  was  furious 
at  the  misadventure,  or  at  the  people  who  caused  him 
unpleasantness,  and  threw  him  back  again  ;  and  he 
felt  how  these  bursts  of  passion  took  it  out  of  him, 
but  he  could  not  restrain  himself.  It  would  seem  as 
if  it  ought  to  have  been  quite  clear  to  him  that  this 
exasperation  with  circumstances  and  people  could 
only  increase  his  illness,  and,  therefore,  he  ought 
not  to  pay  any  attention  to  disagreeable  circum- 
stances, yet  he  came  to  the  diametrically  opposite 
conclusion  :  he  said  to  himself  that  he  needed  quiet, 
and  was  furious  at  everything  which  disturbed  this 
quiet,  and  flew  into  a  passion  at  the  very  slightest 
interference.  His  condition  grew  even  worse  when 
he  took  to  reading  medical  books  and  consulting  the 
doctor ;  but  this  growing  worse  was  so  gradual  that 
he  was  able  to  deceive  himself  by  comparing  one  day 
with  another,  so  slight  was  the  difference  from  day 
to  day.  But,  whenever  he  consulted  the  doctor,  it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  was  going  from  bad  to  worse, 
and  pretty  rapidly,  too  ;  yet,  notwithstanding  this,  he 
consulted  the  doctor  continually. 

This  month  he  visited  another  medical  celebrity. 
The  second  celebrity  said  almost  the  same  thing  as 
the  first  celebrity,  only  he  put  the  same  questions  in 
a  different  way.  And  the  consultation  with  this 
celebrity  only  increased  the  doubt  and  fear  of  Ivan 

201 


Mope  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

Il'ich.  A  friend  of  a  friend  of  his — a  very  good 
doctor — diagnosed  his  malady  quite  differently,  and 
notwithstanding  that  he  promised  a  cure,  still  further 
confused  Ivan  Il'ich  with  his  questions  and  directions, 
besides  confirming  his  doubts.  A  homceopathist 
diagnosed  the  malady  differently  from  any  of  the 
others,  and  gave  him  special  medicines,  which  Ivan 
H'ich,  in  profound  secrecy,  took  for  a  week.  And 
after  a  week,  not  feeling  any  relief,  and  losing  con- 
fidence both  in  his  former  drugs  and  in  his  new  ones, 
he  fell  into  a  still  more  woeful  condition.  Once  a 
distinguished  lady  told  him  about  cures  effected  by 
means  of  ikons.  Ivan  Il'ich  caught  himself  listening 
intently,  and  believing  in  the  story  as  an  actual  fact. 
The  incident  alarmed  him.  "  Is  it  possible  that  my 
intellect  is  failing  me  ? "  he  asked  himself  "  Rubbish  ! 
nonsense !  I  must  not  give  way  to  fancies,  but  must 
choose  one  doctor,  and  regularly  follow  his  prescrip- 
tions, ril  do  so,  and  there's  an  end  of  it.  I'll  think 
no  more  about  it,  but  will  take  his  drugs  for  a  whole 
year.  And  then  we  shall  see.  And  now  I  have  done 
with  all  this  vacillation ! "  It  was  easy  to  say  this, 
but  impossible  to  accomplish  it.  All  along,  the  pain 
in  his  side  was  tormenting  him,  and,  as  if  growing  in 
strength,  it  began  to  be  more  insistent ;  the  taste  in 
his  mouth  became  stronger,  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  a 
disgusting  smell  proceeded  from  the  inside  of  his 
mouth,  and  his  appetite  and  strength  failed  him  more 
and  more.  It  was  impossible  to  deceive  himself  any 
longer :  something  strange,  novel,  and  so  important, 
that  nothing  of  anything  like  the  same  importance 
had  ever  happened  in  Ivan  Il'ich's  life  before,  was 

202 


The  Death  of  Ivan  H'ich 

accomplishing  itself  within  him.  And  he  alone  knew 
of  it;  all  those  around  him  did  not  or  would  not 
understand  it,  and  thought  that  everything  in  the 
world  was  going  on  just  the  same  as  before.  This 
tortured  Ivan  Il'ich  almost  more  than  anything  else. 
The  people  at  home,  principally  his  wife  and 
daughter,  who  were  in  the  very  thick  of  their  social 
engagements,  did  not  understand  it  at  all,  he  could 
see  that,  and  were  quite  offended  with  him  for  being 
so  glum  and  exacting,  as  if  he  were  to  be  blamed 
for  that.  Although  they  tried  to  hide  it,  he  could 
see  that  he  was  in  their  way,  but  that  his  wife  had 
forced  herself  to  take  up  a  certain  attitude  with 
regard  to  his  complaint,  and  adhered  to  it,  inde- 
pendently of  whatever  he  might  say  or  do.  This 
attitude  of  hers  was  something  of  this  sort  :  "  You 
know,"  she  would  say  to  her  acquaintances,  "  Ivan 
Il'ich  cannot,  like  all  other  good  people,  strictly 
adhere  to  the  doctor's  prescriptions.  To-day  he 
takes  his  drops  and  eats  what  he  is  ordered  to 
eat,  and  will  lie  down  a  bit ;  and  then  to-morrow, 
if  I  don't  look  after  him,  he  will  forget  to  take 
them  ;  he  will  eat  sturgeon  (which  is  forbidden  him), 
and  will  sit  down  to  cards  for  a  whole  hour." 

"When  did  I.'*"  Ivan  H'ich  said  angrily  at 
Peter  Ivanovich's. 

"  In  the  evening  with  Shebek." 

"What  does  it  matter?  I  cannot  sleep  for 
pain." 

**  Very  well ;  whatever  may  be  done,  you  will  never 
be  cured,  and  you'll  keep  on  giving  us  all  this 
anxiety." 

203 


More  Tales  fpom  Tolstoi  ^. 

This  extraneous  attitude  of  Praskov'ya  Thedorovna 
towards  the  sick  man,  as  expressed  to  others  and 
to  himself,  implied  that  the  illness  was  all  Ivan 
Il'ich's  own  fault,  and  was,  in  fact,  a  fresh  un- 
pleasantness which  he  was  causing  his  wife.  Ivan 
Il'ich  felt  indeed  that  this  escaped  her  involuntarily, 
but  it  was  none  the  easier  to  bear  for  all  that. 

In  the  Courts,  too,  Ivan  Il'ich  observed,  or  thought 
he  observed,  the  same  strange  sort  of  attitude  taken 
up  towards  him.  At  one  time  it  would  seem  to 
him  as  if  they  regarded  him  as  a  man  whose  place 
would  soon  be  vacant  ;  then  all  at  once  his  friends 
would  begin  to  joke  with  him  about  his  faddiness, 
just  as  if  that  strange  and  terrible,  unheard  of  thing 
that  was  going  on  within  him,  never  ceasing  to  suck 
away  at  him,  and  irresistibly  dragging  him  some- 
whither, was  the  most  pleasant  subject  in  the  world 
for  jesting.  Schwarz  especially  irritated  him  by  his 
sportiveness,  vivacity,  and  comma  il  faut  way  of 
looking  at  things,  reminding  Ivan  Il'ich  of  what  he 
was  himself  ten  years  ago. 

A  party  of  friends  would  come  and  sit  down  with 
him  to  a  game  at  cards,  in  the  lightest,  merriest  of 
moods,  and  the  cards  would  be  sorted  and  dealt, 
and  the  usual  jests  w^ould  circulate,  and  suddenly 
Ivan  Il'ich  would  be  sensible  of  his  sucking  pain 
and  of  that  bad  taste  in  the  mouth,  and  it  would 
seem  a  barbarous  thing  to  him  that  he  could  take 
any  pleasure  in  the  game  under  such  circumstances. 

They  could  all  see  how  hard  it  was  for  him,  and 
they  would  say  to  him  :  "  We  can  stop  if  you  are 
tired.     You  rest  a  bit." 

204 


The  Death  of  Ivan  M'ich 

Rest  a  bit  ?  No,  he  could  not  think  of  resting  ; 
he  would  play  the  rubber. 

They  were  all  glum  and  silent,  and  Ivan  Il'ich 
felt  that  he  had  cast  this  glumness  upon  them,  and 
could  not  dissipate  it.  Then  they  had  supper  and 
separated,  and  Ivan  Il'ich  was  left  all  alone  with 
the  consciousness  that  his  life  was  envenomed,  and 
that  he  was  envenoming  the  lives  of  others,  and  that 
this  venom  would  not  lose  in  intensity,  but  would  go 
on  penetrating  his  existence  more  and  more. 

And  with  the  consciousness  of  this,  and  what  is 
more,  with  acute  physical  pain  and  even  with  terror, 
he  was  obliged  to  lie  down  on  his  bed,  unable  to 
sleep  for  great  pain  the  whole  night.  And  in  the 
morning  he  had  to  get  up,  dress  himself,  go  to 
Court,  speak,  write,  and  if  he  did  not  go  he  had  to 
remain  for  four-and-twenty  hours  at  home,  each  one 
of  which  was  a  torment.  And  he  had  thus  to  go  on 
living  on  the  brink  of  destruction,  without  a  single 
soul  to  understand  and  pity  him. 


V. 


And  thus  a  month,  two  months,  passed  away. 
Just  before  the  new  year  his  brother-in-law  came 
to  town,  and  stayed  with  them.  Ivan  Il'ich  was 
at  Court.  Praskov'ya  Thedorovna  had  gone  out 
shopping.  On  entering  his  cabinet  he  found  his 
brother-in-law  there,  a  healthy  fellow  of  sanguine 
temperament,  unpacking  his  own  trunk.  He  raised 
his  head  on  hearing  the  footsteps  of  Ivan  Il'ich,  and 
glanced  at  him  for  a  moment  in  silence.     This  look 

205 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

revealed  everything  to  Ivan  Il'ich,  His  brother-in- 
law  opened  his  mouth  to  sigh,  and  restrained  him- 
self.    This  movement  confirmed  everything. 

"  Well,  I've  altered  a  bit,  eh  ? " 

"  Yes     .     .     .     there's  a  change." 

And  however  much  Ivan  Il'ich  might  try  to  bring 
his  brother-in-law  to  converse  on  the  subject  of 
his  appearance,  his  brother-in-law  continued  to  be 
reticent.  Praskov'ya  Thedorovna  arrived,  and  the 
brother-in-law  went  to  her.  Ivan  Il'ich  locked  the 
door  and  began  to  look  at  himself  in  the  mirror — full- 
face  first  of  all,  and  after  that  sideways.  He  took 
up  his  portrait,  in  which  he  was  represented  with 
his  wife,  and  compared  the  portrait  with  what  he 
saw  in  the  glass.  The  change  was  enormous.  Then 
he  stripped  up  his  shirt-sleeve  to  the  elbow,  regarded 
it,  let  down  his  sleeve  again,  sat  down  on  the 
ottoman,  and  grew  blacker  than  night. 

"  It  must  not  be,  it  must  not  be,"  he  said  to 
himself,  sprang  up,  went  to  the  table,  opened  some 
public  document,  began  to  read  it,  but  could  not 
go  on  with  it.  He  opened  the  door  and  went  into 
the  saloon.  The  door  leading  to  the  drawing-room 
was  closed.  He  approached  it  on  tip-toe  and  began 
to  listen. 

"  No,  you  exaggerate,"  Praskov'ya  Thedorovna  was 
saying. 

'*  Exaggerate  ?  Why,  surely  you  can  see  for  your- 
self }  He's  a  dead  man,  I  tell  you ;  look  at  his 
eyes !  No  light  in  'em.  What's  the  matter  with 
him.?" 

*'  Nobody  knows.  Nikolaev  (this  was  the  friendly 
206 


The  Death  of  Ivan  M'ich 

doctor)  said  something  or  other,  but  I  don't  know 
what  to  make  of  it.  Leshchetetsky  (this  was  the 
former  doctor)  said  on  the  other  hand     .     .     ." 

Ivan  Il'ich  went  away,  went  to  his  own  room,  lay 
down,  and  began  to  think  :  "  Reins,  renal  flux,"  He 
remembered  all  that  the  doctors  had  told  him,  how 
his  renal  mischief  had  begun,  and  how  it  was  spread- 
ing now  here  and  now  there.  And  by  the  force  of 
the  imagination  he  tried  to  understand  this  malady, 
and  how  to  stop  it  and  cure  it.  Such  a  very  little 
was  wanted,  it  seemed  to  him.  "  No,  I  will  go  again 
to  Peter  Ivanovich."  (This  was  the  friend  whose 
friend  the  doctor  was.)  He  rang,  ordered  them  to 
get  the  carriage  ready,  and  prepared  to  go. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Jean  } "  asked  his  wife,  with 
a  peculiarly  melancholy,  and  unusually  kind  expres- 
sion. 

This  unusually  kind  expression  offended  him.  He 
regarded  her  gloomily. 

*'  I  must  go  to  Peter  Ivanovich." 

He  went  to  this  friend  whose  friend  the  doctor 
was,  and  with  him  he  went  to  the  doctor.  He  found 
him  in  and  had  a  long  talk  with  him. 

After  considering  all  the  anatomical  and  physio- 
logical details  which,  according  to  the  opinion  of  the 
doctor,  accounted  for  what  was  going  on  inside  him, 
he  understood  everything. 

There  was  a  patch — a  tiny  little  patch  in  the  lower 
gut.  All  that  could  be  put  to  rights.  The  energy 
of  one  organ  could  be  strengthened  by  diminishing 
the  activity  of  another  organ  ;  healthy  processes  could 
be  set  going,  and  all  would  be  made  right.     He  was 

207 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

a  little  late  for  dinner.  He  had  a  little  dinner, 
talked  gaily,  but  for  a  long  time  could  not  settle 
down  to  any  occupation.  At  last  he  went  to  his 
cabinet  and  immediately  set  to  work.  He  read 
cases  and  worked  away,  but  the  consciousness  that 
there  was  gnawing  away  at  him  a  postponed, 
serious,  suppressed  something  with  which  he  would 
finally  have  to  do,  never  once  left  him.  When 
he  had  finished  his  work  he  recollected  that  this 
suppressed  thing  was  the  thought  of  the  lower  gut. 
But  he  did  not  give  way  to  it,  he  went  to  the 
drawing-room  for  some  tea.  Guests  were  there,  and 
there  was  conversation,  and  music,  and  singing,  and 
the  judge  whom  they  wished  to  be  his  daughter's 
fiance  was  present.  Ivan  Il'ich  spent  the  evening, 
Praskov'ya  Thedorovna  observed,  more  gaily  than 
the  others,  but  not  for  a  moment  did  he  forget  the 
weighty,  postponed  thought  of  the  lower  gut.  At 
eleven  o'clock  he  took  leave  of  his  guests,  and  went 
to  his  own  room.  Ever  since  the  beginning  of  his 
illness  he  had  slept  alone  in  a  little  apartment  off 
his  cabinet.  There  he  went,  undressed,  and  took 
up  a  romance  of  Zola's,  but  instead  of  reading 
it  fell  a-thinking.  And  in  his  imagination  the 
much-desired  improvement  of  the  small  gut  was 
accomplished.  There  was  re-absorption,  suppura- 
tion, and  the  proper  functional  activity  was  restored 
"That's  the  whole  thing,"  he  said  to  himself;  "all 
you've  got  to  do  is  to  assist  nature."  He  remem- 
bered that  he  had  to  take  his  medicine,  got  up,  took 
it,  lay  down  on  his  back,  waiting  for  the  beneficial 
action  of  the  medicine  to  destroy  the  pain.      "  All 

208 


The  Death  of  Ivan  I  rich 

one  has  to  do  is  to  take  things  calmly  and  avoid 
prejudicial  influences,  and  now,  indeed,  I  really  feel 
better,  very  much  better."  He  began  to  feel  his  side, 
and  the  contact  was  not  painful.  "Yes,  I  do  not 
feel  it;  really  I  am  very  much  better  already."  He 
put  out  the  light  and  lay  down  on  his  side.  The 
small  gut  evidently  was  righting,  readjusting  itself. 
Suddenly  he  felt  the  familiar,  old,  dragging  pain, 
the  same  obstinate,  steady,  serious  pain.  And  in  his 
mouth  there  was  the  same  familiar  foulness.  His 
heart  began  to  throb  and  his  head  to  grow  dull. 
"  My  God  !  my  God  ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  again,  again, 
and  it  never  ceases."  And  suddenly  the  thing  struck 
him  from  a  new  point  of  view.  "  Lower  gut ! 
inflammation  indeed !  "  he  said  to  himself.  "  It  is 
no  question  of  the  intestines,  it  is  no  question  of 
inflammation — it  is  a  question  of  life  and  death.  Yes, 
it  used  to  be  life,  and  now  it  is  drifting  away, 
drifting  away,  and  I  can't  stop  it.  Yes.  Why 
deceive  myself?  Is  it  not  quite  plain  to  everyone 
but  myself  that  I  am  dying,  and  it  is  only  a  question 
of  weeks,  of  days— it  may  happen  any  moment?  It 
was  light,  and  now  it  is  darkness.  Then  I  was 
there,  and  now  I  am  here.  Where?"  A  cold 
shiver  came  over  him — he  stopped  breathing.  He 
heard  only  the  beating  of  his  heart. 

"  I  shall  be  no  more,  what  does  it  mean  ?  There 
will  be  nothing  at  all.  For  where,  indeed,  shall  I 
be  when  I  shall  be  no  more  ?  Can  it  be  death  ? 
No,  I  will  not  die."  He  sprang  up  and  would  have 
lit  the  candle,  fumbled  about  with  tremulous  hands, 
upset  the  candle  and  candlestick  on  to  the  floor,  and 

209  o 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi  _ 

again  fell  back  on  his  pillow.  "Why  bother?  It  is  | 
all  one,"  he  said  to  himself,  gazing  into  the  dark- 
ness with  open  eyes.  "  Death  ?  Yes,  death,  and 
they  know  nothing  about  it,  and  don't  want  to  know, 
and  have  no  pity.  They  are  playing."  (He  heard 
far  away,  beyond  the  door,  the  sound  of  voices  and 
music.)  "  It  is  all  one  to  them,  and  yet  they  must 
die  too.  The  fools !  'Twill  be  a  little  sooner  for 
me  and  a  little  later  for  them,  that's  all ;  it  will 
be  all  the  same  in  the  end.  And  they  are  happy. 
Brutes!"  He  was  suffocated  with  rage.  And  he 
was  in  torments  and  unendurably  wretched.  **Can 
it  be  that  everyone  is  doomed  to  experience  this 
dreadful  anguish?"     He  got  up. 

"  I  ought  not  to  go  on  like  this,  I  ought  to  be 
calm  and  think  over  everything  from  the  beginning." 
And  so  he  began  to  reflect.  "  Yes,  the  disease  began 
like  that.  I  bumped  my  side,  and  it  remained  much 
about  the  same  as  before  both  that  day  and  the 
day  after.  Then  I  had  a  dull  sort  of  pain,  and 
then  it  got  a  little  worse,  then  I  had  the  doctor, 
and  then  came  low  spirits  and  anguish,  and  then 
the  doctor  again,  and  all  the  time  I  was  drawing 
nearer  and  nearer  to  the  abyss.  My  strength  begins 
to  fail.  Nearer  and  nearer.  And  now  I  dwindle  to 
nothing,  and  there  is  no  light  in  my  eyes.  It  is 
death,  and  here  am  I  only  thinking  of  my  bowels ! 
I  am  thinking  how  to  set  my  bowels  in  order,  and 
it  is  death  that  is  knocking  at  my  door.  Can  it 
really  be  death  ? " 

And    again    terror    seized    him  ;    he    panted    for 
breath,  bent  over  and  began  to  search  for  the  candle, 

2IO 


The  Death  of  Ivan  ITich 

and  knocked  the  little  pedestal-table  beside  him  with 
his  elbow.  It  stood  in  his  way  and  hurt  him  ;  he 
flew  into  a  passion  with  it,  pressed  upon  it  still 
harder  in  his  anger,  and  overturned  the  pedestal- 
table.  And  in  despair,  and  gasping  for  breath, 
he  rolled  back  upon  his  back  awaiting  death 
immediately. 

The  guests  were  departing  at  that  very  time. 
Praskov'ya  Thedorovna  was  showing  them  out.  She 
heard  the  fall  and  went  in. 

"  What's  the  matter  .? " 

"Nothing.  I  have  let  something  fall  unexpect- 
edly." 

She  went  out  and  brought  a  light.  There  he  lay, 
breathing  rapidly  and  heavily,  like  a  man  who  had 
run  a  mile,  looking  at  her  with  glazing  eyes. 

*'  What  is  the  matter,  Jean  ?  " 

"No — no — nothing.  It  drop — ped. — What  can  I 
say  ?    She  will  not  understand,"  he  thought  to  himself. 

And,  indeed,  she  did  not  understand.  She  got  up, 
lit  his  candle,  and  went  out  hastily.  She  had  to 
take  leave  of  a  guest.  When  she  came  back  he  was 
lying  on  his  back  gazing  at  the  ceiling. 

"  How  are  you  ? — worse,  eh  ?  " 

"Yes." 

She  shook  her  head  and  sat  down. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Jean,  hadn't  we  better  send  and 
see  if  Leshchetetsky  is  at  home  ?  " 

That  meant  telling  the  famous  doctor  to  call,  and 
not  sparing  their  money.  He  smiled  bitterly  and  said 
no.  After  sitting  a  little  longer  she  approached  him 
and  kissed  him  on  the  forehead. 

211 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

At  that  moment  he  hated  her  with  all  the  strength 
of  his  soul,  and  with  difficulty  refrained  from  repuls- 
ing her. 

"Good-bye.  God  grant  you  may  get  a  little 
sleep." 

"Yes." 

VI. 

Ivan  I  rich  saw  that  he  was  dying,  and  despaired 
continually. 

In  the  depth  of  his  soul  he  knew  that  he  was  dying, 
but  not  only  did  he  not  become  accustomed  to  it,  but 
he  simply  could  not  understand  it— could  not  under- 
stand it  at  all. 

That  syllogism  which  he  had  learnt  in  Kizeveter's 
logic  I  "  Caius  is  a  man,  all  men  are  mortal,  therefore 
Caius  is  mortal,"  had  seemed  to  him,  all  his  life  long, 
to  apply  only  to  Caius,  and  to  have  no  reference  to 
himself  Caius  was  a  man,  man  in  general,  and  it 
was  quite  correct  as  applied  to  Caius  ;  but  Ae  was  not 
Caius,  he  was  not  man  in  general ;  HE  had  always 
been  quite,  guiU  distinct  from  all  other  creatures. 
Yes,  he  was  Jack  with  his  own  mamma  and  papa, 
and  with  Mita  and  Voloda  and  his  playthings  and 
his  coachman  and  his  nurse,  and  afterwards  with  his 
Kitty,  and  with  all  the  joys,  sorrows,  and  triumphs 
of  childhood,  boyhood,  and  youth.  What  had  Caius 
to  do  with  the  smell  of  that  striped  leather  ball  that 
he,  Jack,  loved  so  much  ?  Did  Caius  ever  kiss  the 
hand  of  a  mother  as  he  had  done }  Did  Caius  ever 
hear  the  crinkling  of  the  folds  of  his  mother's  silk 
dress?     Did  Caius  ever  smuggle  in  tarts  during  a 

212 


The  Death  of  Ivan  I'lich 

lesson  in  jurisprudence  ?  Was  Caius  ever  in  love  ? 
Could  Caius  ever  have  presided  in  Court  ? 

And  Caius  was  certainly  mortal,  and  must  die  in 
the  regular  course  of  things  ;  but  as  for  me,  Vanya, 
Ivan  Il'ich,  with  all  my  feelings  and  sentiments — 
that's  quite  a  different  thing.  It  cannot  possibly  be 
that  I  must  die,  that  would  be  too  terrible. 

Thus  did  he  think  within  himself. 

"  If  I  had  to  die  like  Caius,  then  I  should  have 
known  it,  then  an  inner  voice  must  needs  have  told 
me  so ;  but  there  was  nothing  of  the  sort  within  me, 
and  I  and  all  my  friends  quite  understood  that  we 
were  quite  different  from  Caius.  And  now  look 
here  ! "  he  said  to  himself.  "  It  cannot  be,  it  cannot 
be,  and  yet  it  is.  What's  the  meaning  of  it  ?  How 
shall  I  understand  it  ?  " 

And  he  could  not  understand  it,  and  tried  to  drive 
the  thought  away  from  him  as  a  false,  abnormal, 
morbid  thought,  and  to  substitute  for  it  other  normal, 
healthy  thoughts.  But  this  thought,  and  it  was  not 
a  mere  thought,  but  as  if  a  reality,  came  to  him 
again  and  remained  constantly  before  him. 

And  he  summoned  one  after  the  other  to  take  the 
place  of  this  thought  other  thoughts,  hoping  to  find 
a  support  in  them.  He  tried  to  return  to  his  former 
habit  of  thought  which  had  formerly  obscured  from 
him  the  thought  of  death ;  but,  strange  to  say,  all 
that  had  formerly  obscured,  concealed,  annihilated  the 
thought  of  death,  was  unable  now  to  produce  that 
effect.  Of  late  Ivan  Il'ich  had  spent  a  considerable  time 
in  these  attempts  to  revive  those  habits  of  thought 
which  had  obscured  the  thought  of  death.     "  At  one 

213 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

time,"  he  said,  "I  will  get  absorbed  in  my  official 
business,  I  really  live  for  that."  And  he  had  gone 
to  Court  driving  away  from  him  all  doubts  ;  he  had 
entered  into  conversation  with  his  colleagues,  and 
would  sit  in  his  old  way,  distraught,  skimming  over 
the  crowd  with  a  dreamy  look,  and  with  both  his 
hands,  growing  meagre  now,  resting  on  the  arm  of 
his  oak  chair,  and,  as  usual,  he  would  bend  over  to 
the  colleague  who  was  opening  the  case  and  whisper 
a  few  words  to  him,  and  then,  suddenly  looking  up 
and  sitting  straight  in  his  chair,  would  pronounce 
certain  words  and  begin  the  business.  But  suddenly, 
in  the  midst  of  it  all,  the  pain  in  the  side,  paying 
no  heed  to  the  development  of  the  case,  would 
begin  its  sucking  action.  Ivan  ITich,  becoming 
aware  of  it,  would  drive  the  thought  of  it  away 
from  him,  but  it  went  on  with  its  business,  and 
it  came  forward  and  stood  right  in  front  of  him,  and 
looked  at  him,  and  he  was  turned  to  stone,  the  fire 
of  his  eye  was  extinguished,  and  he  began  again 
to  ask  himself:  I  wonder  whether  it  alone  is  right? 
And  his  colleagues  and  his  subordinates  noticed  with 
astonishment  and  indignation  how  he,  the  brilliant, 
subtle  judge,  was  getting  confused  and  making 
blunders.  Then  he  would  grow  alarmed  and  try  and 
fix  his  attention,  and  try,  somehow  or  other,  to  hold 
out  till  the  end  of  the  session,  and  would  return  home 
with  the  bitter  consciousness  that  his  business  in 
Court  could  no  longer  hide  from  him  what  he  wanted 
to  be  hidden,  that  his  business  in  Court  could  not 
deliver  him  from  it.  And  worse  than  all  else  was 
this :  it  drew  him  towards  it,  not  in  order  that  he 

214 


The  Death  of  Ivan  ll'ich 

might  do  something,  but  simply  that  he  might  look 
at  it,  straight  into  its  eyes,  look  at  it,  and  helplessly 
inert,  be  inexpressibly  tormented. 

And  escaping  from  this  condition  of  mind,  Ivan 
Il'ich  would  seek  relief  by  interposing  other  screens 
between  him  and  it,  and  these  other  screens  would 
present  themselves  and  for  a  time  seem  to  deliver 
him,  but  immediately  they  would  not  so  much  be 
destroyed  as  become  transparent,  as  if  it  was  shining 
through  everything,  and  nothing  whatever  could  guard 
against  it. 

Once  during  these  latter  days  he  went  into  the 
drawing-room  arranged  by  him,  that  very  drawing- 
room  where  he  had  had  the  fall,  for  the  sake  of 
which — oh,  the  bitterly  ridiculous  thought  of  it ! — 
for  the  sake  of  arranging  which  he  had  sacrificed 
his  life,  for  he  knew  that  his  malady  began  with  the 
contusion  he  had  received  there ;  well,  he  entered 
the  room  and  perceived  that  there  was  a  dent  in 
the  japanned  table,  cut  deep  in  by  something  or 
other.  He  sought  for  the  cause  of  it,  and  found  it 
in  the  bronze  ornamentation  of  the  album  which  had 
been  bent  back  at  the  corner.  He  took  the  album, 
a  dear  one,  which  he  himself  had  introduced  there 
con  amore^  and  was  very  angry  at  the  carelessness 
of  his  daughter  and  her  friends  ;  this  thing  torn  too, 
these  visiting  cards  all  scattered  about.  He  very 
carefully  put  everything  in  order  again,  and  bent 
back  the  ornamentation  of  the  album  into  its  proper 
place. 

On  another  occasion  the  idea  occurred  to  him  to 
move   all   this   arrangement   with   the  albums   over 

215 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

into  another  corner  where  the  flowers  were.  He 
called  the  lackey ;  either  his  daughter  or  his  wife 
came  to  his  assistance.  They  did  not  agree  with 
him,  they  contradicted  him  ;  he  wrangled,  got  angry, 
but  it  all  did  him  good,  because  he  had  forgotten 
all  about  it,  it  was  not  visible. 

But  then  his  wife  said,  just  when  he  was  moving 
the  things  about  with  his  own  hands  :  "  Allow  me, 
let  the  servants  do  it,  you  will  only  do  yourself  harm 
again,"  and  immediately  it  flashed  through  the  screen, 
he  saw  it.  It  flashed  through,  and  yet  he  made 
believe  that  it  was  hidden,  but  involuntarily  he 
became  attentive  to  his  side  again — there  sat  all  the 
same  old  thing  with  the  same  dull  old  pain,  and  he 
could  forget  no  longer,  and  //  was  plainly  looking 
at  him  from  behind  the  flowers.  What  was  the  good 
of  it  all  ? 

"Yes,  no  doubt  of  it,  on  this  curtain,  just  as  much 
as  if  I  had  been  storming  a  breach,  did  I  lose  my  life. 
Can  it  be  possible  ?  How  horrible  and  how  stupid  ! 
It  cannot  be !     It  cannot  be,  yet  it  is." 

He  went  into  his  cabinet,  lay  down,  and  once  more 
was  alone  with  it.  Eye  to  eye  with  it,  and  to  come 
to  terms  with  it — impossible.  He  could  only  look  at 
it  and  grow  cold. 


VII. 


How  it  happened  in  the  third  month  of  the  illness 
of  Ivan  Il'ich  it  is  impossible  to  say,  because  it 
happened  insensibly,  step  by  step,  but  at  any  rate 
this  thing  did  happen :   his  wife,  his  daughter,  his 

216 


The  Death  of  Ivan  H'ich 

son,  his  servants,  his  acquaintances,  the  doctor,  and 
especially  he  himself,  knew  that  the  sole  interest  felt 
in  him  by  others  was  as  to  how  soon  he  would 
finally  vacate  his  place,  release  the  living  from  the 
impediment  of  his  existence,  and  deliver  himself  from 
his  sufferings. 

He  got  less  and  less  sleep  ;  they  gave  him  opium 
and  began  to  inject  morphia.  But  this  did  not 
relieve  him.  The  dull  anguish  which  he  experienced 
in  his  semi-conscious  condition  at  first  was  a  simple 
relief  from  its  very  novelty,  but  subsequently  it 
became  just  as  tormenting,  and  even  more  torment- 
ing than  open  pain. 

They  prepared  for  him  special  dishes  by  the 
doctor's  directions,  but  all  these  dishes  struck  him 
as  being  more  and  more  tasteless,  more  and  more 
nauseating. 

In  order  to  assist  his  evacuations,  special  appara- 
tuses were  arranged,  and  every  time  they  were 
applied  it  was  a  torture  to  him.  And  this  torture 
was  increased  by  the  consciousness  that  another  man 
had  to  take  part  in  it. 

Yet  this  very  unpleasant  business  itself  brought 
some  relief  to  Ivan  Il'ich.  The  person  who  always 
had  to  do  these  things  for  him  was  the  man-servant, 
Gerasim. 

Gerasim  was  a  clean,  fresh  young  muzhik,  always 
bright  and  merry.  At  first  the  sight  of  this  ever 
cleanly  young  fellow,  dressed  in  the  Russian  fashion, 
performing  this  disgusting  ofHce,  deeply  distressed 
Ivan  Il'ich. 

Once   when    he    had    risen    from    the  night-stool 
217 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

without  strength  enough  to  draw  up  his  pantaloons, 
he  had  sunk  into  a  soft  chair,  and  gazed  with  horror 
upon  his  exposed  impotent  calves,  with  their  sharply 
defined  muscles. 

At  that  moment  Gerasim  entered  in  thick  boots, 
distributing  around  him  a  pleasant  smell  of  tar  from 
his  boots  and  of  fresh  winter  air,  walking  with  a 
light,  strong  step  in  a  clean  linen  blouse  and  a  clean 
cotton  shirt,  with  his  sleeves  turned  up  over  his 
naked,  strong  young  arms,  and  not  looking  at  Ivan 
irich,  and  visibly  restraining,  so  as  not  to  offend  the 
invalid,  his  sensation  of  the  joy  of  life  which  was 
beaming  in  his  face,  went  towards  the  close-stool. 

"Gerasim!"  said  Ivan  Il'ich  feebly. 

Gerasim  trembled,  evidently  fearing  lest  he  might 
have  committed  some  blunder  or  other,  and  with  a 
quick  movement  turned  towards  the  invalid  his  fresh, 
good,  simple  young  face,  on  which  a  beard  was  just 
beginning  to  sprout. 

*'  What  do  you  want,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  this  is  an  unpleasant  job  for  you. 
Forgive  me,  I  cannot  help  it." 

"  Lord,  help  us ! "  cried  Gerasim  with  sparkling 
eyes,  and  showing  his  young,  white  teeth  as  he 
smiled ;  "  why  shouldn't  I  do  this  little  job  ?  You 
are  so  bad,  sir." 

And  with  his  strong,  skilful  arms  he  performed 
his  usual  office,  and  went  out  with  a  light  step. 
And  in  five  minutes  he  came  back  again,  stepping 
just  as  lightly  as  before. 

Ivan  Il'ich  was  still  sitting  in  the  chair. 

"  Gerasim,"  said  he,  when  the  latter  had  replaced 
218 


The  Death  of  Ivan  I  rich 

the   clean,  well-washed  close-stool,  *'come  hither,  if 
you  please,  and  help  me." 

Gerasim  came. 

"  Lift  me  up.  It  is  hard  for  me  alone,  and  I  have 
sent  Dmitry  away." 

Gerasim  came.  With  his  strong  arms,  just  as 
lightly  as  he  had  walked,  he  embraced  Ivan  Il'ich 
skilfully,  lifted  him  up  softly,  and,  holding  him  up, 
with  the  other  hand  he  readjusted  his  pantaloons, 
and  would  have  set  him  down  again.  But  Ivan 
irich  begged  him  to  carry  him  to  the  divan. 
Gerasim  without  an  effort,  and  as  if  he  scarce  held 
him,  led  him,  almost  carrying  him  to  the  divan,  and 
sat  him  down  upon  it. 

"Thanks,  how  well  and  cleverly  you  do  every- 
thing." 

Gerasim  smiled  again  and  would  have  gone  away, 
but  Ivan  Il'ich  liked  to  be  with  him  so  much  that  he 
did  not  want  to  dismiss  him. 

"  Push  that  chair  yonder  close  up  to  me,  if  you 
please.  No,  that  one  there — under  my  legs.  I  feel 
easier  when  my  legs  are  raised." 

Gerasim  brought  the  chair,  placed  it  in  position 
without  knocking  it  against  anything,  and  placed 
Ivan  Il'ich's  feet  upon  it.  It  seemed  to  Ivan  Il'ich 
that  he  felt  much  easier  ever  since  Gerasim  had 
raised  his  feet  higher. 

"  I  feel  easier  when  my  feet  are  higher,"  said  Ivan 
Il'ich.     "  Place  that  cushion  there  under  me." 

Gerasim  did  so.  Again  he  raised  Ivan  Il'ich's  feet 
and  placed  the  cushion.  Again  Ivan  Il'ich  felt 
better  so  long  as  Gerasim  held  up  his  feet. 

219 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

As  soon  as  he  let  them  go  he  felt  worse. 

"  Gerasim,"  he  said  to  him,  "  have  you  got  employ- 
ment now  ?  " 

"No,  none  at  all,"  said  Gerasim,  who  had  been 
learning  from  the  townspeople  how  to  speak  with 
gentlemen. 

"  What  else  have  you  got  to  do  besides  this  ?  " 

"  What  have  I  got  to  do  ?  I  have  done  everything 
now,  I  have  only  got  to  chop  wood  for  to-morrow." 

"  Then  go  on  holding  my  feet  up  a  little  higher — 
canjyou  ? " 

**  Why  of  course."  Gerasim  raised  the  feet  higher. 
And  it  seemed  to  Ivan  H'ich  as  if  in  this  position  he 
didn't  feel  the  pain  at  all. 

"  And  how  about  that  wood,  eh  ?  " 

"  Pray  do  not  be  uneasy  about  it,  we'll  manage." 

Ivan  Il'ich  ordered  Gerasim  to  sit  down  and  hold 
his  feet,  and  he  talked  to  him.  And  it  was  a  strange 
thing,  but  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  better  so 
long  as  Gerasim  held  his  feet. 

From  henceforth  Ivan  Il'ich  used  sometimes  to 
call  Gerasim,  and  get  him  to  hold  his  feet  on  his 
shoulders,  and  loved  to  talk  with  him.  Gerasim  did 
this  easily,  willingly,  simply,  and  so  good-naturedly 
that  Ivan  Il'ich  was  touched  by  it.  Health,  strength, 
fulness  of  life  in  all  other  people  offended  Ivan  Il'ich, 
but  strength  and  fulness  of  life  in  Gerasim  did  not 
fret  but  soothed  Ivan  Il'ich. 

The  chief  torment  of  Ivan  Il'ich  was  falsehood,  the 
falsehood  adopted  in  some  way  or  other  by  them 
all,  that  he  was  only  ill  and  not  dying,  and  that  all 
he  had  to  do  was  to  keep  quiet  and  get  well,  and 

220 


The  Death  of  Ivan  ITich 

then  it  would  be  all  right.  He  knew  very  w^ell  that 
whatever  they  might  do,  nothing  would  come  of  it 
but  still  greater  torments  and  death.  And  this  lie 
tormented  him  ;  it  tormented  him  that  they  would 
not  recognise  what  they  knew  and  what  he  knew 
to  be  a  fact,  but  would  lie  to  him  about  his  terrible 
position,  and  wanted  him  to,  and  made  him,  par- 
ticipate in  this  lie. 

Lies,  lies,  all  these  lies  lied  about  him  up  to  the 
very  eve  of  his  death  ;  lies  which  were  bound  to 
degrade  this  terrible,  solemn  act  of  his  death  down 
to  the  level  of  all  their  visits,  curtains,  caviare  for 
dinner — this  was  a  terrible  torment  for  Ivan  Il'ich. 
And  it  was  a  strange  thing  that  many  a  time,  when 
they  were  fooling  him  like  this,  he  was  within  a  hair's- 
breadth  of  shrieking  at  them  :  ''  Enough  of  this  false- 
hood. You  know,  and  I  know,  that  I  am  dying,  so 
at  any  rate  cease  to  lie  about  it."  But  he  never  had 
the  heart  to  do  this.  The  frightful,  terrible  act  of 
his  dying — he  could  see  it  plainly — was  degraded  by 
all  who  surrounded  him  to  the  level  of  a  temporary 
unpleasantness,  an  indecency  (of  the  same  sort  as 
how  to  avoid  a  man  who  on  entering  a  drawing- 
room  disseminates  a  bad  odour),  being  so  degraded 
by  that  same  sense  of  "  decency "  to  which  he  him- 
self had  been  a  slave  all  his  life,  he  perceived  that 
none  pitied  him  because  none  even  wanted  to  under- 
stand his  condition.  Only  Gerasim  understood  that 
condition,  and  was  sorry  for  him.  And  therefore  it 
was  only  well  with  Ivan  Il'ich  when  he  was  with 
Gerasim. 

It  was  well  with  him  when  Gerasim,  sometimes 

221 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

whole  nights  at  a  stretch,  held  up  his  feet,  and 
would  not  go  to  sleep,  saying :  "  Pray  do  not  put 
yourself  about,  Ivan  Il'ich,  sleep  a  little  more  ; " 
or,  when  suddenly  addressing  him  with  the  familiar 
thou,  added :  "  As  if  thou  wert  not  ill,  and  why 
should  not  I  render  thee  this  little  service  ?  " 

Gerasim  alone  told  no  lies,  everything  showed  that 
he  alone  knew  how  the  matter  stood,  and  did  not 
consider  it  necessary  to  conceal  it,  and  was  simply 
sorry  for  his  weak,  expiring  master.  On  one  occa- 
sion, when  Ivan  Il'ich  was  for  sending  him  away, 
he  spoke  right  out :  *'  We  must  all  die,  why  shouldn't 
I  take  a  little  trouble  ? "  said  he,  thereby  expressing 
that  he  made  light  of  his  labour,  principally  because 
he  was  doing  it  for  the  sake  of  a  dying  man,  and 
hoped  that  for  him  also  someone  would  do  the  same 
sort  of  work  when  his  time  came. 

Besides  this  sort  of  lying,  or  in  consequence  of 
it,  the  most  tormenting  thing  of  all  for  Ivan  Il'ich 
was  the  fact  that  nobody  pitied  him  as  he  wanted  to 
be  pitied ;  at  certain  times,  after  long  suffering,  the 
wish  would  come  to  Ivan  Il'ich,  though  he  would 
not  willingly  have  admitted  it,  that  someone  might 
pity  him  just  as  if  he  were  a  sick  child,  and  it  was 
the  thing  he  wished  for  most  of  all.  He  wished  that 
they  would  caress  him  and  kiss  him  and  weep  over 
him  a  little,  just  as  people  caress  and  soothe  children. 
He  knew  that  he  was  an  important  functionary, 
that  he  had  a  grizzling  beard,  and  therefore  that 
it  was  impossible,  and  yet  he  wished  it  all  the  same. 
In  his  relations  with  Gerasim  there  was  something 
akin   to  this.       And    therefore    his    relations    with 

222 


The  Death  of  Ivan  ll'ich 

Gerasim  soothed  him.  Ivan  ll'ich  wanted  to  weep, 
and  he  wanted  others  to  caress  him  and  weep  over 
him  ;  and  then  his  colleague,  the  functionary  Shebek, 
comes  to  see  him,  and  instead  of  weeping  and  allow- 
ing himself  to  be  caressed,  Ivan  ll'ich  puts  on  a 
serious,  severe,  profound  expression  of  face,  and,  as 
far  as  his  inertia  will  allow  him,  delivers  his  opinion 
on  the  significance  of  the  judgments  of  the  Court  of 
Appeal,  and  obstinately  clings  to  the  subject.  This 
lie,  all  around  him,  and  within  himself,  envenomed 
more  than  anything  else  the  last  days  of  the  life  of 
Ivan  ll'ich. 

VIII. 

It  was  morning.  It  was  only  morning  because 
Gerasim  went  away,  and  Peter  the  lackey  appeared, 
extinguished  the  candles,  opened  one  of  the  cur- 
tains, and  began  very  quietly  to  tidy  up  the  room. 
Whether  it  was  morning  or  evening,  or  Friday  or 
Sunday — it  didn't  matter  which — it  was  all  one  and 
the  same  thing :  the  dull,  dragging,  torturing  pain, 
never  for  an  instant  still,  the  hopeless  consciousness 
of  a  life  that  was  constantly  ebbing,  but  had  not 
yet  quite  ebbed  away;  the  consciousness  of  death, 
the  hateful  and  terrible,  ever-advancing  death,  the 
one  reality,  and  yet  all  this  lying  going  on  at  the 
same  time.  How  could  there  be  any  talk  here  of 
days  or  weeks,  or  the  days  of  the  week  ? 

"  Did  you  order  tea,  sir  ?  " 

It  is  a  necessary  rule  that  the  gentry  should  drink 
tea  in  the  morning,  he  thought  to  himself,  but  he 
only  said  no. 

223 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

"Would  you  like  to  be  moved  on  to  the  divan, 
sir?" 

He  has  to  put  the  bedroom  in  order,  and  I  am  in 
the  way,  and  I  am  dirt  and  disorder,  he  thought  to 
himself,  but  all  he  said  was  :  "  No,  leave  me." 

The  lackey  still  kept  bustling  about.     Ivan  Il'ich 
stretched   out   his    hand.      Peter   approached   obse- 
quiously.    **  Do  you  want  anything,  sir  ?  " 
"  My  watch." 

Peter  got  the  watch,  lying  under  his  very  arm,  and 
gave  it  to  him. 

"  Half-past  nine.     Are  they  up  ?  " 
"  No,  sir.     Vladimir  Ivanovich  (that  was  his  son) 
has  gone  to  the  gymnasium,  but  Praskov'ya  Thedo- 
rovna  commanded  that  they  should  be  awakened  if 
you  asked  for  anything.     Did  you  want  them,  sir  ? " 

"  No,  it  is  not  necessary."  Shall  I  try  a  little  tea  .-* 
he  thought.     "  Yes,  bring  me  some  tea." 

Peter  went  towards  the  door.  It  was  a  terrible 
thing  to  Ivan  Il'ich  to  be  left  alone.  How  should  he 
keep  the  servant  a  little  longer  ?  Yes,  there  was  his 
medicine. 

"  Peter,  give  me  my  medicine." 
The  medicine  might  do  him  good  after  all,  there 
was  no  knowing.  He  took  the  spoon  and  drank  it. 
No,  it  was  no  good.  It's  all  nonsense,  deception,  he 
decided,  as  soon  as  ever  he  had  tasted  the  familiar, 
nasty,  and  hopeless  stuff.  No,  I  can  believe  in  it  no 
longer.  But  this  pain,  this  pain,  why  should  I  have 
it?  If  only  it  would  stop  for  an  instant.  And  he 
groaned.  Peter  turned  round. 
"  No,  go,  bring  the  tea." 

224 


The  Death  of  Ivan  ll'ich 

Peter  departed.  Ivan  H'ich,  left  alone,  groaned, 
not  so  much  from  pain,  horrible  as  it  was,  as  from 
weariness.  It  was  always  the  same  thing  over  again, 
all  these  endless  days  and  nights.  If  only  it  would 
be  quicker.  Quicker  ?  What  did  he  mean  ?  Death, 
darkness.     No,  no.     Anything  was  better  than  death. 

When  Peter  came  in  with  the  tea  on  a  tray,  Ivan 
ll'ich  looked  at  him  absently  for  a  long  time,  not 
comprehending  who  he  was  or  what  he  was.  Peter 
grew  confused  at  this  steadfast  gaze,  and  when  Peter 
was  confused  Ivan  ll'ich  came  to  himself  again. 

"  Ah  ! "  said  he,  "  the  tea.  Very  well,  put  it  down, 
only  help  me  to  wash  and  put  on  a  clean  shirt." 

And  Ivan  ll'ich  began  to  wash.  Breathing  heavily, 
he  washed  his  hands,  his  face,  cleaned  his  teeth, 
began  to  comb  his  hair  and  to  look  at  himself  in  the 
mirror.  It  was  a  terrible  thing  to  him,  a  peculiarly 
terrible  thing,  to  note  how  closely  his  hair  clung  to 
his  pale  forehead. 

When  he  came  to  change  his  shirt,  he  knew  that 
it  would  be  still  more  dreadful  for  him  if  he  looked 
at  his  body,  so  he  did  not  look  at  it.  But  it  was 
finished  at  last.  He  put  on  a  dressing-gown,  wrapped 
a  plaid  round  him,  and  sat  down  in  his  chair  to  tea. 
For  a  moment  he  felt  himself  refreshed,  but  no 
sooner  had  he  begun  to  drink  the  tea  than  that 
taste,  that  pain,  came  back  again.  With  an  effort 
he  finished  the  tea  and  lay  down,  stretching  out 
his  legs.     He  lay  down  and  dismissed  Peter. 

It  was  the  same  thing  over  again.  At  one  moment 
a  gleam  of  hope,  the  next  moment  a  raging  sea  of 
despair,  and  all  was  pain,  pain,  misery,  misery,  and 

225  P 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

the  same  thing  over  and  over  again.  All  this  lonely 
misery  was  terrible  ;  he  would  have  liked  to  send  for 
someone  or  other,  but  he  knew  beforehand  that  it  was 
still  worse  when  other  people  were  with  him.  "  If 
only  I  might  have  some  more  morphine,  I  might 
forget  about  it.  I  shall  tell  the  doctor  that  he 
must  invent  something  else.  To  go  on  like  this  is 
impossible,  quite  impossible." 

An  hour  or  two  passed  in  this  way.  But  now 
there  came  a  ring  at  the  vestibule.  The  doctor 
perhaps  ?  Yes,  it  was  the  doctor — fresh,  brisk, 
plump,  merry,  with  that  sort  of  expression  which 
says  :  Ah !  ha !  we  are  a  little  bit  nervous,  eh  ?  but 
we'll  very  soon  put  all  that  to  rights.  The  doctor 
knows  that  this  expression  is  quite  out  of  place  here, 
but  he  has  put  it  on  once  for  all  and  cannot  lay 
it  aside  again,  like  a  man  who  has  put  on  a  frock- 
coat  in  the  morning  to  go  visiting. 

The  doctor  came  in  rubbing  his  hands  in  a  brisk, 
encouraging  fashion. 

"  I'm  cold,  there's  a  healthy  frost  to-day ;  let  me 
warm  myself  a  bit,"  he  exclaimed,  as  much  as  to  say 
you  must  wait  a  little  bit  till  I  have  warmed  myself, 
and  when  once  I  have  warmed  myself  I'll  very  soon 
put  things  to  rights. 

"  Well  now,  how  are  we  ? " 

Ivan  Il'ich  felt  that  what  the  doctor  really  wanted 
to  say  was :  How  is  our  little  affair  going  on  ?  but 
that  feeling  it  was  impossible  to  say  this  he  said 
instead  :  How  are  we  getting  on  ?  by  which  he  meant 
to  say  :  What  sort  of  a  night  have  you  had  ? 

Ivan  Il'ich  looked  at  the  doctor  with  an  expression 
226 


The  Death  of  Ivan  ll'ich 

of  face  which  really  asked  him  :  "  Will  you  never 
be  ashamed  of  telling  lies,  I  wonder?"  but  the  doctor 
would  not  notice  the  inquiry. 

Then  Ivan  ll'ich  said  :  "  Just  as  badly  as  ever ;  the 
pain  won't  go  away,  and  never  ceases.  If  only  you 
could  give  me  something." 

"That's  always  the  way  with  you  invalids.  I'm 
now  pretty  well  warmed,  I  think.  Even  Praskov'ya 
Thedorovna,  who  is  always  so  careful,  could  make  no 
objection  to  my  temperature  now.  Well  now,  let's 
see,  how  are  you?"  And  the  doctor  pressed  his 
hand. 

And  now,  forsaking  his  former  sprightliness,  the 
doctor,  with  a  serious  face,  began  to  examine  the 
patient,  feel  his  pulse,  take  his  temperature,  tap  him, 
and  put  his  ear  to  him. 

Ivan  ll'ich  was  firmly  and  indubitably  persuaded 
that  all  this  was  nonsense  and  pure  deceit,  but  when 
the  doctor,  going  down  on  his  knees,  bent  over  him 
and  glued  his  ear  to  him,  now  higher  up  and  now 
lower  down,  and,  with  a  most  important  countenance, 
made  various  gymnastic  evolutions  over  him,  Ivan 
irich  submitted  to  it  as  he  had  submitted  to  the 
speeches  of  advocates  in  court,  knowing  very  well  all 
the  time  that  they  were  lying  all  the  time,  and  why 
they  were  lying. 

The  doctor  was  still  on  his  knees  at  the  divan,  and 
still  poking  away  at  Ivan  ll'ich,  when  the  silk  dress 
of  Praskov'ya  Thedorovna  rustled  in  the  doorway, 
and  they  could  hear  her  reproaching  Peter  for  not 
telling  her  that  the  doctor  had  arrived. 

She  came  in,  kissed  her  husband,  and  immediately 
227 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

began  to  prove  that  she  had  been  up  long  ago,  and 
that  it  was  only  owing  to  a  misunderstanding  that 
she  had  not  been  there  when  the  doctor  arrived. 

Ivan  Il'ich  looked  at  her,  and  took  her  all  in,  and 
her  whiteness  and  her  puffiness,  and  the  cleanness 
of  her  hands  and  neck,  and  the  glitter  of  her  hair, 
and  the  brightness  of  her  eyes  full  of  life,  were  all 
so  many  causes  of  reproach  against  her.  He  hated 
her  with  all  the  force  of  his  soul,  and  her  mere 
contact  made  him  suffer  from  an  access  of  hatred 
against  her. 

Her  attitude  towards  him  and  his  illness  was  pre- 
cisely the  same.  Just  as  the  doctor  had  taken  up  an 
attitude  towards  the  sick  man  which  he  could  not 
now  drop,  so,  too,  she  had  taken  up  an  attitude 
towards  him,  founded  on  the  assumption  that  he 
would  not  do  anything  he  ought  to  do,  and  it  was  all 
his  own  fault,  and  she  loved  to  blame  him  for  it,  and 
this  attitude  once  taken  up  she  could  not  drop  it. 

"  He  wouldn't  listen,  you  know ;  he  wouldn't  take 
things  in  time,  and,  above  all,  he  lies  in  a  position 
which  is  very  bad  for  him,  with  his  legs  up." 

And  she  told  the  doctor  how  he  had  made 
Gerasim  hold  his  feet  up. 

The  doctor  smiled  with  bland  contemptuousness. 

"  What  are  we  to  do  ? "  said  he ;  "  these  invalids, 
you  know,  sometimes  do  have  such  odd  ideas,  but 
we  may  forgive  him,  I  suppose." 

When  the  examination  was  completed,  the  doctor 
looked  at  his  watch,  and  then  Praskov'ya  Thedorovna 
told  Ivan  Il'ich  that  she  had  done  what  he  wanted, 
and  invited  the  famous  doctor  to  come  and  see  him, 

228 


The  Death  of  Ivan  M'ich 

and  they,  together  with  Mikhail  Danilovich  (that 
was  the  name  of  the  general  practitioner),  were  to 
examine  him  and  form  an  opinion. 

"  You  surely  will  not  object,  I  am  doing  this  on 
my  own  account,"  she  said  ironically,  giving  him  to 
understand  that  hitherto  she  had  done  everything 
as  he  wanted  it,  and  that  only  in  this  instance  she 
would  not  allow  him  to  refuse  her.  He  was  silent 
and  frowned.  He  felt  that  this  lie  enveloping  him 
was  so  complicated  that  it  would  be  very,  difficult 
to  put  anything  right. 

And,  indeed,  at  half-past  twelve  the  famous  doctor 
arrived.  Again  there  were  auscultations  and  grave 
consultations  in  his  apartment  and  in  another  apart- 
ment, and  a  lot  of  talk  about  the  kidneys  and  the 
intestines,  and  questions  and  answers  with  such 
important  looks  that,  once  more,  instead  of  the  real 
question  of  life  and  death,  which  was  now  alone 
impending  over  him,  a  new  question  emerged  about 
the  kidneys  and  the  intestines,  which,  somehow  or 
other,  were  not  acting  as  they  ought  to  do,  and  upon 
which  organs,  in  consequence,  Mikhail  Danilovich 
and  the  medical  celebrity  fell  at  once,  and  made 
up  their  minds  to  put  them  to  rights. 

The  celebrated  doctor  took  his  leave  with  a 
serious  but  not  a  hopeless  expression  of  counte- 
nance, and,  in  reply  to  the  audacious  question  which 
Ivan  irich  put  to  him,  at  the  same  time  fixing  him 
with  eyes  sparkling  with  terror  and  hope,  namely, 
whether  there  was  any  possibility  of  a  cure,  the  cele- 
brated doctor  replied  that  he  couldn't  guarantee  it, 
but  that  it  was  possible.     The   look   of  hope  with 

229 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

which  Ivan  Il'ich  followed  the  doctor  out  was  so 
piteous  that,  on  perceiving  it,  Praskov'ya  Thedorovna 
burst  into  tears  as  she  passed  through  the  door  of 
the  cabinet  to  give  the  celebrated  doctor  his  hono- 
rarium. 

The  good  spirits,  caused  by  the  encouragement 
of  the  doctor,  did  not  last  long.  There  was  the  same 
room,  there  were  the  same  pictures,  the  same  curtains, 
furniture,  vases,  and  that  self-same  sick  and  suffering 
body  of  his.  And  Ivan  Il'ich  began  to  groan  ;  they 
gave  him  an  injection  and  he  forgot  everything. 
When  he  came  to  himself  again  it  was  beginning 
to  be  dusk,  and  they  brought  him  his  dinner.  With 
an  effort  he  ate  a  little  of  the  soup  ;  it  was  all  the 
same  over  again,  and  then  came  nightfall  as  usual. 

After  dinner  at  seven  o'clock,  Praskov'ya  Thedo- 
rovna came  into  his  room,  in  evening  dress,  with  her 
stout,  protuberant  bosom,  and  traces  of  powder  on 
her  face.  That  very  morning  she  had  reminded  him 
that  they  were  going  to  the  theatre.  It  was  Sarah 
Bernhardt's  benefit,  and  they  had  a  box  which  he 
had  insisted  upon  their  taking.  Now  he  had  for- 
gotten all  about  this,  and  her  get-up  offended  him. 
But  he  concealed  his  vexation  when  he  remembered 
that  he  himself  had  insisted  that  they  should  hire 
the  box  and  go,  because  it  would  be  an  intellectual, 
aesthetic  treat  for  the  children. 

Praskov'ya  Thedorovna  came  in  well  satisfied  with 
herself,  and  yet  with  a  guilty  air.  She  sat  down 
beside  him  and  asked  him  how  he  was,  simply  for 
the  sake  of  asking,  as  he  could  see,  and  not  for 
the  sake  of  finding  out,  knowing  very  well  that  there 

230 


The  Death  of  Ivan  ll'ich 

was  nothing  to  find  out.  Then  she  began  to  say 
that  she  was  bound  to  go,  though  she  would  give 
anything  not  to  go ;  but  the  box  was  taken  and 
Elen  was  going  and  his  daughter,  and  Petrishchev 
(the  judicial  assessor,  his  daughter's  Jiance),  and  that 
it  was  impossible  to  let  them  go  alone,  but  that  it 
would  have  been  much  more  agreeable  to  her  to  sit 
at  home  with  him,  only  he  was  to  promise  to  obey 
the  doctor's  directions  during  her  absence. 

"Yes,  and  Thedor  Dmitrievich  (th.Q  Jianc/)  would 
like  to  come  in  and  see  him.  Might  he  come  ?  And 
Liza  ? " 

"  Let  them  come  in  if  they  like." 

His  daughter  came  in  dressed  up,  with  her  bare 
young  body,  the  same  sort  of  body  which  was 
causing  him  all  his  suffering,  and  she  showed  him 
her  dress.  A  strong,  healthy  young  girl,  visibly  in 
love  with  herself,  and  disgusted  with  disease,  suffering, 
and  death,  as  interfering  with  her  happiness. 

Thedor  Dmitrievich  also  came  in  in  a  dress  coat, 
with  his  hair  curled  d  la  capoul^  with  a  long,  sinewy 
neck  encircled  by  a  white  linen  collar,  with  an 
enormous  white  shirt  front  and  narrow  black  trousers, 
with  a  tight-fitting  white  glove  on  one  hand,  and  an 
opera  hat. 

After  him  crept  in,  unobserved,  the  gymnasiast, 
also,  in  his  new  little  uniform,  poor  little  wretch,  in 
gloves,  and  with  frightful  blue  lines  under  his  eyes, 
the  significance  of  which  Ivan  ll'ich  knew  very 
well. 

He  had  always  felt  sorry  for  his  son,  and  it  was 
terrible  to  behold  his  frightened  and  compassionate 

231 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

look.     Except  Gerasim,  it  seemed  to  Ivan  Il'ich  as 
if  Voloda  alone  understood  and  pitied  him. 

They  all  sat  down,  again  they  asked  him  about 
his  health.  Silence  ensued.  Liza  asked  her  mother 
about  the  opera  glass.  There  was  a  slight  dispute 
between  mother  and  daughter  as  to  what  had  become 
of  it.     The  dispute  ended  unpleasantly. 

Theodor  Dmitrievich  asked  Ivan  Il'ich  whether 
he  had  seen  Sarah  Bernhardt.  Ivan  Il'ich  did  not 
at  first  understand  the  question,  and  presently 
answered  no. 

"  You  have  seen  her  already,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes,  in  *  Adrienne  Lecouvreur.' " 

Praskov'ya  Thedorovna  said  that  she  was  particu- 
larly good  in  that  part.  The  daughter  contradicted. 
An  argument  began  about  the  elegance  and  realism 
of  her  acting,  that  sort  of  conversation  which  is 
always  one  and  the  same  thing. 

In  the  middle  of  the  conversation  Theodor 
Dmitrievich  looked  at  Ivan  Il'ich  and  was  silent. 
The  others  looked  at  him  and  were  silent.  Ivan 
Il'ich  was  gazing  in  front  of  him  with  sparkling 
eyes,  evidently  he  was  angry  with  them.  Evidently 
this  ought  to  be  put  right,  but  there  was  no  means 
whatever  of  putting  it  right.  This  silence  ought  to 
be  broken  somehow.  But  nobody  could  make  up 
his  mind  to  do  so,  and  it  was  frightfully  awkward 
to  all  of  them  that  no  convenient  lie  was  ready  to 
hand,  and  it  was  plain  to  all  of  them  what  was 
wanted.  Liza  was  the  first  to  make  up  her  mind. 
She  broke  the  silence.  She  wanted  to  conceal  what 
all  of  them  were  experiencing,  but  she  spoke  out. 

232 


The  Death  of  Ivan  M'ich 

"Well,  if  we  must  go,  it's  high  time,"  she  said, 
looking  at  her  watch,  a  gift  from  her  father,  and 
smiling  at  her  young  man  with  a  scarcely  noticeable 
significant  look,  which  he  alone  understood,  and  she 
stood  up  rustling  her  dress. 

Then  they  all  stood  up,  said  good-bye,  and  went 
away. 

When  they  had  gone  out,  Ivan  Il'ich  felt  a  little 
easier ;  the  lie  was  no  longer  there,  it  had  gone  out 
with  them,  but  the  pain  remained.  The  same  con- 
tinual pain,  the  same  continual  terror  had  this  effect, 
that  nothing  was  heavier,  nothing  was  lighter,  every- 
thing was  for  the  worst. 

Again,  minute  after  minute,  hour  after  hour,  passed 
by ;  it  was  the  same  thing  over  and  over  again,  and 
there  was  no  end  to  it,  and  more  terrible  than  all  was 
the  inevitable  end. 

'*  Yes,  send  Gerasim  here,"  he  replied  to  a  question 
from  Peter. 


IX. 


Late  at  night  his  wife  returned  ;  she  came  in  on  tip- 
toe, but  he  heard  her,  opened  his  eyes,  and  quickly 
closed  them  again.  She  wanted  to  send  away 
Gerasim  and  sit  with  him  herself.  He  opened  his 
eyes  and  said  :  "  No,  go  away." 

"  You  are  suffering  very  much,  eh  ? " 

"  Much  the  same  as  usual." 

"  Take  some  opium." 

He  consented,  and  drank  it.     She  went  out. 

For  about  three  hours  he  was  in  a  tormenting 
233 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

slumber.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  and  the  pain 
were  shut  up  together  somehow  in  a  narrow  and 
deep  black  sack,  and  were  getting  deeper  and  deeper 
into  it  and  couldn't  get  out.  And  this  horrible  state 
of  affairs  was  accompanied  with  great  personal  suffer- 
ing. And  he  was  afraid,  and  wanted  to  break  out 
somewhere  and  struggled,  and  wanted  help.  And 
quite  suddenly  he  burst  out  of  the  sack  and  fell 
somewhere,  and  awoke.  Gerasim  was  still  sitting  at 
his  feet  on  the  bed,  brooding  quietly  and  patiently. 
There  he  was  lying  with  the  thin,  stockinged  feet  of 
his  master  raised  upon  his  shoulders ;  the  light  was 
still  there  with  the  shade  upon  it,  and  there,  too,  was 
the  same  unceasing  pain. 

"  Go  away,  Gerasim,"  he  whispered. 

"  It  doesn't  matter,  I'll  sit  a  bit  longer." 

"  No,  go  away." 

He  removed  his  feet,  lay  with  his  hand  on  his  side, 
and  felt  very  sorry  for  himself  He  continued  to  lie 
like  this  until  Gerasim  had  gone  into  the  other  room, 
and  then  he  was  unable  to  contain  himself,  and  wept 
like  a  child.  He  wept  because  of  his  helplessness, 
because  of  his  frightful  loneliness,  because  of  the 
cruelty  of  people,  because  of  the  cruelty  of  God, 
because  of  the  absence  of  God. 

"  Why  hast  Thou  done  all  this  ?  Why  hast  Thou 
brought  me  hither  ?  Why,  oh  why,  dost  Thou  torture 
me  so  terribly  ? " 

He  did  not  expect  an  answer,  and  he  wept  because 
there  was  no  answer,  and  couldn't  be  an  answer. 
The  pain  rose  up  again,  but  he  did  not  move,  he 
did  not  call.     He  said  to  himself:  "Very  well,  then, 

234 


I 


The  Death  of  Ivan  M'ich 

smite  me!  But  what  for?  What  have  I  done  to 
Thee  ?     Why  dost  Thou  smite  me  ?  " 

After  that  he  was  silent,  he  ceased  not  only  to 
weep,  but  even  to  breathe,  and  became  all  attention, 
as  if  he  were  listening  not  to  the  voice  which  speaks 
through  the  lips,  but  to  the  voice  of  the  soul,  to 
the  current  of  thought  arising  up  within  him. 

"  What  dost  thou  require  ? "  was  the  first  clear 
notion  expressible  by  words  which  he  heard. 

*'  What  dost  thou  require  ? "  he  kept  repeating 
to  himself  "  What  ?  Not  to  suffer.  To  live,"  he 
answered. 

And  again  he  gave  himself  up  entirely  to  an 
attentive  expectation,  so  intense  that  even  his  pain 
did  not  distract  him. 

"  To  live  ?  How  do  you  mean  to  live  ? "  asked  the 
voice  of  the  soul. 

"  To  live  as  I  lived  before,  well  and  pleasantly." 

"  As  you  lived  before,  well  and  pleasantly  .'* "  asked 
the  voice. 

And  he  began  to  go  over  in  his  imagination 
the  best  moments  of  his  pleasant  life.  But,  oddly 
enough,  all  these  best  moments  of  his  pleasant  life 
seemed  to  him  to  be  quite  different  now  to  what 
they  had  seemed  then.  It  was  so  with  all  of  them 
except  the  recollections  of  his  childhood.  There  in 
his  childhood  there  was  something  really  pleasant, 
with  which  it  was  possible  to  live  if  only  he  could 
go  back  to  it.  But  there  was  now  no  trace  of  the 
man  who  had  experienced  this  pleasantness,  it  was 
like  a  reminiscence  of  someone  else. 

No  sooner  did  he  begin  to  consider  what  was 
235 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

the  result  of  his  life,  namely,  that  actually  present 
he,  Ivan  Il'ich,  than  everything  that  had  seemed 
so  pleasant  thawed  away  before  his  very  eyes  and 
turned  into  nothingness,  a  nothingness  that  was 
sometimes  odious. 

And  the  further  away  he  got  from  his  childhood, 
and  the  nearer  he  drew  to  the  present  time,  the  more 
insignificant  and  doubtful  this  pleasantness  became. 
This  began  from  the  time  that  he  was  a  law  student. 
Then,  indeed,  there  was  still  something  that  was 
really  good ;  then  there  was  gaiety,  then  there  was 
friendship,  then  there  were  hopes.  But  in  the  higher 
classes  these  good  moments  became  rarer  and  rarer. 
Afterwards,  in  the  time  of  his  first  service  at  the 
Governor's,  there  were  again  some  good  moments ; 
these  were  the  recollections  of  his  love  for  his  wife. 
Afterwards  all  this  was  mixed  up,  and  there  was  still 
less  of  good  in  it.  Still  further  on  there  was  still 
less  of  good,  and  the  further  he  went  on  the  less 
of  good  he  found. 

Then  came  his  marriage — and  disillusionment  so 
unexpectedly  .  .  .  and  the  sensuality  of  it  and 
the  hypocrisy  !  And  this  dead  officialism,  and  this  care 
about  money,  and  then  a  year  of  it,  and  two  years 
of  it,  and  ten,  and  twenty — and  always  the  same  old 
thing  over  again!  And  the  further  it  went  on  the 
more  it  savoured  of  death.  "And  I  going  down- 
hill so  nonchalantly,  imagining  all  the  time  that  I 
was  going  uphill.  And  so  it  was.  According  to 
the  general  opinion  I  was  going  uphill,  and  all  the 
time  life  was  just  as  much  vanishing  from  beneath 
me.     And  now  I  am  ready.     Let  me  die  ! 

236 


I 


The  Death  of  Ivan  ll'ich 

"  Why  is  it  all  so  ?  Why,  indeed  ?  It  cannot  be  ! 
It  cannot  be  that  life  is  so  senseless,  so  hideous? 
And  if  it  really  was  so  odious  and  senseless,  why  die, 
and  die  suffering  ?     There  is  something  not  right." 

Possibly  I  have  not  lived  as  I  ought  to  have  lived  ? 
flashed  through  his  head.  But  how  can  that  be 
when  I  have  always  done  my  duty?  And  imme- 
diately he  drove  away  from  him  this  unique  solution 
of  all  the  riddles  of  life  and  death,  as  if  it  were 
something  absolutely  impossible. 

And  what  do  you  want  now?  To  live?  How? 
To  live  as  you  lived  in  the  Courts  when  the  court- 
usher  announced :  '*  Judgment  is  going  to  be  de- 
livered ! " 

"  Judgment  is  coming,  judgment  is  coming,"  he 
kept  repeating  to  himself.  "Is  this  the  judgment? 
And  I  am  surely  not  guilty  ! "  he  cried  aloud  with 
rage.  "  What  for  ? "  And  he  ceased  to  weep,  and 
turning  his  face  to  the  wall  kept  thinking  continually 
of  one  and  the  same  thing :  "  Wherefore  all  this 
horror  ?  " 

But  think  of  it  as  he  might,  he  could  find  no 
answer.  And  when,  as  it  frequently  did  come,  the 
thought  came  to  him  that  all  this  arose  from  the 
circumstance  that  he  had  not  lived  as  he  ought  to 
have  lived,  he  immediately  called  to  mind  the  regular 
life  he  had  always  led,  and  drove  away  that  frightful 
thought. 

X. 

Another  fortnight  had  passed.  Ivan  IPich  was 
now  confined  to  the  divan.     He  would  not  lie   in 

^17 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

bed,  but  he  lay  on  the  divan.  And  lying  almost 
the  whole  time  with  his  face  to  the  wall,  he  suffered 
continually  in  his  solitude  the  same  inexplicable 
sufferings,  and  kept  on  thinking  the  same  inexplicable 
thought :  "  What  is  this  ?  Can  it  be  true  that  this 
is  death  ? "  And  the  inner  voice  answered :  "  Yes, 
it  is  true." — "  Wherefore  these  torments  ? " — It  is 
because,  not  wherefore.  Besides  and  beyond  this 
there  was  nothing  at  all. 

From  the  very  beginning  of  his  illness,  from  the 
time  that  Ivan  Il'ich  first  went  to  the  doctor,  his 
life  had  been  divided  between  two  opposite  inter- 
changing tendencies — on  the  one  hand  despair  and 
the  expectation  of  an  unintelligible  and  terrible 
death  ;  on  the  other  hand  hope  and  the  absorbingly 
interesting  observation  of  the  natural  processes  of 
his  body ;  on  the  one  hand  was  an  unintelligible, 
terrible  death,  from  which  there  was  absolutely  no 
escape ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  there  was  constantly 
before  his  eyes  his  bowels  or  his  kidneys,  which 
temporarily  refused  to  perform  their  proper  functions. 

From  the  very  beginning  of  his  illness  these  two 
tendencies  were  continually  superseding  each  other ; 
but  the  further  the  disease  advanced  the  more 
dubious  and  fantastic  became  the  physiological  ideas, 
and  the  more  real  the  consciousness  of  approaching 
death. 

He  had  only  to  remember  what  he  had  been  three 
months  before  and  what  he  was  now — he  had  only 
to  remember  how  steadily  he  had  been  going  down- 
hill, in  order  to  destroy  every  possibility  of  hope. 

During  the  latter  period  of  the  loneliness  in  which 
238 


The  Death  of  Ivan  U'ich 

he  was,  lying  with  his  face  turned  to  the  back 
of  the  divan,  that  loneHness  in  the  midst  of  the 
populous  city,  and  his  numerous  acquaintances  and 
their  families,  a  loneliness  more  complete  than  any 
loneliness  to  be  found  elsewhere,  whether  it  were  to 
be  sought  in  the  bottom  of  the  sea  or  in  the  earth 
— in  the  latter  period  of  this  frightful  loneliness  Ivan 
irich  lived  in  imagination  entirely  in  the  past.  One 
after  another  the  pictures  of  his  past  life  presented 
themselves  before  him.  It  always  began  with  what 
was  nearest  in  time  and  went  on  to  what  was  most 
distant — to  his  childhood,  and  there  stopped.  When 
Ivan  U'ich  thought  of  the  preserved  plums  which 
they  were  giving  him  to  eat  now,  he  called  to  mind 
a  moist,  wrinkled  plum  in  his  childhood,  of  its 
peculiar  taste,  and  of  how  his  mouth  watered  when 
he  got  down  to  the  kernel,  and  along  with  this 
recollection  of  the  taste  of  the  plum  there  arose  a 
whole  series  of  other  recollections  of  the  same  period 
— his  nurse,  his  brother,  his  playthings.  "But  I 
mustn't  think  of  that,  it  is  too  painful,"  said  Ivan 
U'ich  to  himself,  and  again  he  transferred  his  thoughts 
to  the  present  time.  The  buttons  on  the  back  of  the 
divan,  and  the  wrinkles  of  the  morocco  reminded 
him  of  something  else.  *'  Morocco  is  dear,  it  wont 
last,"  his  wife  had  said,  "  and  there  had  been  a  quarrel 
about  that.  But  the  morocco  was  another  morocco, 
and  there  was  another  quarrel  "  when  we  tore  papa's 
portfolio,  and  they  punished  us,  and  mamma  brought 
us  cakes."  And  again  he  lingered  over  his  child- 
hood, and  again  it  was  painful  to  Ivan  U'ich,  and  he 
tried  to  drive  it  away  and  to  think  of  something  else* 

239 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

And  now  again,  together  with  this  series  of 
recollections,  another  series  of  recollections  began  to 
pass  through  his  mind  as  to  how  his  disease  had 
grown  and  increased.  It  was  the  same  thing ;  the 
further  back  he  went  the  more  of  life  there  was. 
There  was  also  more  of  good  in  life,  and  life  itself 
was  fuller.  And  both  these  recollections  blended 
together.  As  the  torments  kept  on  growing  worse 
and  worse,  so  also  all  life  grew  worse  and  worse,  he 
thought  to  himself.  There  was  a  bright  point  far 
back  in  the  beginning  of  life,  and  after  that  every- 
thing was  blacker  and  blacker  and  quicker  and 
quicker.  "The  pace  is  in  inverse  proportion  to  the 
distance  from  death,"  thought  Ivan  Il'ich  to  himself. 
And  this  image  of  a  stone  flying  downwards  with  ever- 
increasing  velocity  fastened  upon  his  mind.  Life,  a 
series  of  ever-increasing  sufferings,  was  always  flying 
more  and  more  rapidly  towards  its  end,  and  that 
end  most  frightful  suff'ering.  "  I  am  flying.  .  .  ." 
He  trembled,  writhed,  would  have  resisted,  but  he 
knew  already  that  it  was  no  use  resisting ;  and 
again,  wearied  of  looking,  yet  unable  not  to  look 
at  what  was  before  him,  he  gazed  at  the  back  of 
the  divan,  and  waited  and  waited  for  that  frightful 
fall,  jolt,  and  destruction.  "  It's  no  good  resisting," 
he  said  to  himself,  "yet  if  only  I  knew  why  this 
is,  and  that  is  impossible.  It  might  be  explained 
if  I  were  to  say  that  I  have  not  lived  as  I  ought  to 
have  lived,  but  this  I  cannot  possibly  acknowledge," 
said  he  to  himself  as  he  recollected  all  the  correctness, 
regularity,  and  respectability  of  his  life.  ''It  is 
impossible  to  allow  that,"  said  he  to  himself,  smiling 

240 


The  Death  of  Ivan  H'ich 

j  with  his  h'ps  as  if  someone  could  see  this  smile  of 
his  and  be  deceived  by  it.  "  There  is  no  explana- 
tion !     Torment,  death.     .     .     .     Wherefore  ? " 


XL 


Thus  a  fortnight  passed  away.  During  this  fort- 
night happened  an  event  which  Ivan  IFich  and  his 
wife  had  long  wished  for.  Petrishchev  made  a 
formal  proposal  for  the  hand  of  his  daughter.  This 
happened  in  the  evening.  Next  day  Praskov'ya 
Thedorovna  went  to  her  husband,  meaning  to  tell 
him  about  the  offer  of  Theodor  Petrishchev,  but 
that  same  night  a  change  for  the  worse  had  taken 
place  in  the  condition  of  Ivan  Il'ich.  Praskov'ya 
Thedorovna  found  him  on  the  same  sofa,  but  in  a 
new  position.  He  was  lying  on  his  back  groaning, 
and  gazing  in  front  of  him  with  a  fixed,  vacant 
look. 

She  began  to  speak  about  his  medicine.  He 
turned  his  look  upon  her.  She  did  not  finish  what 
she  had  begun  to  say,  such  anger,  especially  against 
herself,  was  expressed  in  that  look. 

"  For  Christ's  sake  let  me  die  in  peace,'*  he  said. 

She  would  have  gone  away,  but  at  that  moment 
her  daughter  also  came  in  and  asked  him  how  he 
was.  He  looked  at  his  daughter  as  he  had  looked 
at  his  wife,  and  in  answer  to  her  question  about  his 
health  drily  said  to  her  that  he  would  very  soon 
relieve  them  all  of  his  existence.  They  were  both 
silent,  sat  down  for  a  little,  and  then  went  away. 

"  How  are  we  to  blame  } "  said  Liza  to  her  mother. 
241  Q 


I 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

"We  haven't  done  anything.     I  am  sorry  for  papa, 
but  why  should  he  torment  us  ?  " 

The  doctor  came  at  the  usual  time.  Ivan  Il'ich 
answered  him  "  Yes  "  and  "  No,"  never  once  ceasing  to 
regard  him  angrily,  and  at  the  end  of  the  interview 
he  said  : 

'*You  know  very  well  that  nothing  can  help,  so 
leave  it." 

"  We  can  relieve  the  suffering,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  Even  that  you  can't  do ;  leave  it." 

The  doctor  went  into  the  drawing-room  and  told 
Praskov'ya  Thedorovna  that  things  were  going  very 
badly,  and  that  there  was  only  one  thing — opium — 
which  could  relieve  his  sufferings,  which  must  be 
terrible. 

The  doctor  said  that  his  physical  sufferings  were 
terrible,  and  that  was  true  ;  but  still  more  terrible 
than  his  physical  sufferings  were  his  moral  sufferings, 
and  in  this  was  his  chief  torment. 

His  moral  sufferings  were  due  to  this  circum- 
stance :  that  night,  looking  at  the  sleepy,  good- 
natured  face  of  Gerasim,  with  its  high  cheek-bones, 
it  suddenly  came  into  his  head  :  "  What  if,  in  very 
deed,  the  whole  of  my  life,  my  conscious  life,  was  not 
what  it  ought  to  be  ?  " 

It  came  into  his  head  that  what  had  seemed  to 
him  before  an  utter  impossibility,  namely,  that  he 
had  lived  his  life  not  as  he  ought  to  have  lived  it, 
that  this  might  really  be  true.  It  came  into  his  head 
that  those  scarcely  noticed  inclinations  of  his  to  fight 
against  that  which  the  most  highly  placed  people 
regarded  as  a  sovereign  good,   that   those  scarcely     | 

242 


The  Death  of  Ivan  ll'ich 

noticed  inclinations,  which  he  had  instantly  driven 
away  from  him,  might  after  all  have  been  the  real 
things  he  should  have  lived  for,  and  that  everything 
else  might  not  have  been  so.  And  his  official  duties, 
and  his  theory  of  life,  and  his  family,  and  his  social 
and  official  interests — all  this  might  not  have  been 
the  real  thing ;  he  tried  to  defend  it  all  to  himself. 
And  suddenly  he  felt  all  the  weakness  of  what  he 
was  defending.     And  there  was  no  use  defending  it. 

"  And  if  it  is  so,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  and  I  am 
departing  from  life  with  the  consciousness  that  I 
have  ruined  everything  that  was  given  to  me,  and 
it  is  impossible  to  put  it  right  again,  what  then  } " 

He  lay  on  his  back,  and  began  to  go  over  his 
whole  life  anew. 

When,  in  the  morning,  he  saw  the  lackey  and  then 
his  wife,  and  then  his  daughter,  and  then  the  doctor, 
all  their  movements,  all  their  words,  confirmed  to 
him  the  terrible  truth  which  had  been  revealed  to 
him  in  the  night.  He  saw  in  them  himself  and  all 
that  for  which  he  had  lived,  and  he  saw  plainly  that 
it  was  all  not  the  real  thing — it  was  all  a  frightful, 
immense  deception,  obscuring  both  life  and  death. 
The  consciousness  of  this  increased  his  physical 
sufferings  tenfold.  He  groaned  and  flung  himself 
about,  and  tore  off  his  clothes  ;  they  seemed  to  stifle 
and  oppress  him,  and  therefore  he  hated  them. 

They  gave  him  a  large  dose  of  opium,  he  lost 
consciousness,  but  at  dinner-time  the  whole  thing 
began  over  again.  He  drove  them  all  away  from 
him,  and  tossed  from  side  to  side. 

His  wife  came  to  him  and  said  :  "  Jean,  my  darling, 
243 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

do  this  for  me,  for  me.  It  can  do  no  harm,  and 
is  often  of  use.  Come,  it  is  really  nothing.  People 
in  health  often  do  it." 

He  opened  his  eyes  widely. 

"  What,  to  communicate,  eh  ?      Why }     It  is  not . 

necessary.     And  besides " 

She  burst  out  weeping. 

"Yes,  my  friend,  I  will  call  our  priest,  he  is  so 
kind." 

"  Excellent,  very  well,"  said  he. 
When  the  priest  came  and  confessed  him  he  was 
touched,  felt  a  sort  of  relief  from  his  doubts,  and 
consequently  from  his  sufferings,  and  for  a  moment 
hope  came  back  to  him.  Again  he  began  to  think 
about  his  lower  intestine  and  the  possibility  of  curing 
it.     He  communicated  with  tears  in  his  eyes. 

When  they  laid  him  down  after  communion  he 
felt  easier  for  a  moment,  and  again  a  hope  of  life 
appeared.  He  began  to  think  of  the  operation  which 
lay  before  him.  "  I  want  to  live,  to  live,"  he  said 
to  himself 

His  wife  came  to  ask  him  how  he  was.     She  said 
the  usual  words,  and  added  : 
"  Now,  don't  you  feel  better  t " 
Without  looking  at  her  he  answered  :  "  Yes." 
Her    dress,    her    attitude,    the    expression   of  her 
face,  the   sound    of  her   voice — it   all   said    to   him 
this  one  thing:  "All  that  which  you  have  lived  for, 
and  would  live  for,  is  a  lie  and  a  deception,  hiding 
from  you  life  and  death."     And  no  sooner  had  he 
thought  this  than  a  hatred  of  it  all  rose  up  within 
him,  and  together  with  the  hatred,  physical  torment, 

244 


The  Death  of  Ivan  ll'lch 

and  with  the  torment  the  consciousness  of  inevitable, 
imminent  ruin. 

The  expression  of  his  face  when  he  had  said  *'  Yes  " 
was  terrible.  On  pronouncing  this  yes  he  looked  her 
straight  in  the  face,  and  with  extraordinary  quickness, 
considering  his  weakness,  he  turned  over  on  one  side 
and  cried  :  "  Go  away,  go  away,  leave  me." 

XII. 

From  that  moment  commenced  the  shrieking  fit 
which  lasted  for  three  days,  and  was  so  terrible  that 
it  was  impossible  to  hear  it  without  horror  even 
through  two  doors.  When  he  had  answered  his  wife 
he  understood  that  he  was  lost,  that  there  could  be 
no  return  to  health,  that  the  end  had  come,  quite 
the  end,  and  although  his  doubt  was  now  settled, 
yet  doubt  it  remained. 

"  Wo  !  Wo  !  Wo  ! "  he  cried  in  various  intonations. 
He  had  begun  with  crying  :  "  I  won't,  I  won't,"  and 
then  continued  to  cry  the  syllable  "  Wo  "  only. 

These  three  days,  during  which  time  did  not  exist 
for  him,  he  was  struggling  in  that  black  sack  into 
which  an  invisible,  irresistible  power  had  dragged 
him.  He  fought  as  a  condemned  criminal  in  the 
hands  of  the  executioner  fights,  knowing  that  he 
cannot  save  himself,  and  every  moment  he  felt  that, 
notwithstanding  all  his  struggles  and  exertion,  he 
was  drawing  nearer  and  nearer  to  that  which  terrified 
him  so.  He  felt  that  his  torment  consisted  in  his 
being  dragged  into  this  black  hole,  and  still  more 
in  his   being  unable  to  creep  through   it.     He  was 

245 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

prevented  from  creeping  through  it  by  the  conscious- 
ness that  his  life  was  good.  This  justification  of  his 
life  held  him  as  if  with  hooks,  and  would  not  let 
him  get  forward,  and  tormented  him  more  than 
anything  else. 

Suddenly  some  sort  of  force  smote  him  on  the 
breast  and  in  the  side,  his  breathing  became  still 
more  laboured,  he  struggled  forward  in  the  hole,  and 
there  at  the  end  of  the  hole  something  or  other  was 
shining.  He  felt  now  as  one  feels  in  a  railway 
carriage  when  one  thinks  that  one  is  going  forward 
when  one  is  going  backward,  and  one  suddenly 
recognises  the  real  direction. 

"Yes,  it  was  all  what  it  should  not  have  been," 
he  said  to  himself,  ''  but  it  doesn't  matter.  It  is 
possible,  quite  possible,  to  do  the  right  thing.  But 
what  is  the  right  thing  ?  "  he  asked  himself,  and  was 
again  silent. 

This  was  at  the  end  of  the  third  day,  two  hours 
before  his  death.  At  this  very  time  the  gymnasiast 
had  quietly  crept  into  his  father's  room,  and  ap- 
proached his  bed.  The  dying  man  was  still  shrieking 
desperately  and  throwing  his  hands  about  One  of 
his  hands  fell  on  the  head  of  the  gymnasiast.  The 
little  gymnasiast  seized  it,  pressed  it  to  his  lips,  and 
burst  into  tears. 

At  that  same  moment  Ivan  Il'ich  came  to  himself, 
saw  the  light,  and  it  was  revealed  to  him  that  his  life 
had  not  been  what  it  ought  to  have  been,  but  that  it 
was  still  possible  to  set  it  right.  He  asked  himself: 
"  What  then  is  the  right  thing  .'* "  and  was  silent, 
listening  intently.     Then  he  felt  that  someone  was 

246 


The  Death  of  Ivan  I  rich 

kissing  his  hand.  He  opened  his  eyes  and  beheld 
his  son.  He  was  sorry  for  him.  His  wife  approached 
him.  There  she  was  with  open  mouth,  and  with 
undried  tears  on  her  nose  and  cheek,  regarding  him 
with  an  expression  of  despair.  He  was  sorry  for 
her. 

"  Yes,  I  am  tormenting  them,"  he  thought ;  "  it  is 
wretched  for  them,  but  it  will  be  better  for  them 
when  I  die."  He  wanted  to  say  this,  but  he  had  not 
the  strength  to  pronounce  it.  "But  why  speak  at 
all?  One  must  act,"  he  thought  to  himself.  With 
a  look  he  indicated  his  son  to  his  wife  and  said : 

*'  Take  away  ...  a  pity  .  .  .  and  thou 
also."  He  wanted  to  say  besides  :  "  Forgive,"  but 
he  said  :  "  Never  mind,"  and  not  being  strong  enough 
to  rectify  the  error  he  waved  his  hand,  knowing  that 
HE  understood  whom  it  alone  concerned. 

And  suddenly  it  became  clear  to  him  that  that 
which  was  tormenting  him  and  would  not  go  away 
was  suddenly  going  away  all  at  once  and  altogether. 
He  was  sorry  for  them,  and  he  must  cease  from 
paining  them.  He  must  deliver  them  and  deliver 
himself  at  the  same  time  from  these  sufferings. 
"  What  a  good  and  simple  thing  it  is,"  he  thought. 
"  And  the  pain, "  he  asked  himself,  "  whither  has 
it  gone  ?  Come  now,  where  art  thou,  oh  pain } " 
He  began  to  listen  intently. 

"  Yes,  there  it  is.     Well,  pain,  thou  mayest  depart." 

"  And  death,  where  is  it  ? " 

He  searched  for  his  former  habitual  fear  of  death, 
and  did  not  find  it.  **  Where  is  it  ?  What  is  death  ?  " 
There  was  no  terror  because  there  was  no  death. 

247 


MoPG  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

Instead  of  death  there  was  light.  "Just  look 
now ! "  he  suddenly  cried  aloud.     "  What  joy  ! " 

So  far  as  he  was  concerned,  all  this  had  taken 
place  in  a  single  instant,  and  the  insignificance  of 
this  instant  remained  unchanged.  So  far  as  those 
present  at  his  death-bed  were  concerned,  his  agony 
lasted  another  two  hours.  Something  or  other  was 
heaving  in  his  breast,  his  extenuated  body  was 
collapsing.  Presently  the  heaving  and  gasping 
became  less  and  less  frequent. 

"  It  is  all  over,"  said  somebody  over  him. 

He  heard  these  words  and  repeated  them  in  his 
mind,  "Death  is  done  with,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"  There  is  no  more  death." 

He  drew  in  his  breath,  uttered  a  half  sigh,  stretched 
himself  and  expired. 


248 


VIII.— THE    PENITENT    SINNER 

"And  he  said  to  Jesus  :  Remember  me,  Lord,  when  Thou  comest  in 
Thy  Kingdom.  And  Jesus  said  unto  him  :  Verily,  I  say  unto  thee, 
this  day  shalt  thou  be  with  Me  in  Paradise." — Luke  xxiii.  42,  43. 

There  was  a  man  who  lived  in  the  world  for 
seventy  years,  and  all  that  time  he  lived  a  life  of 
sin.  And  this  man  fell  sick,  and  he  did  not  repent. 
And  when  death  came,  in  his  last  hour,  he  burst 
into  tears  and  said :  "  Lord,  forgive  me  as  Thou 
forgavest  the  thief  on  the  cross ! "  Scarce  had  he 
succeeded  in  saying  this  when  his  soul  departed. 
And  the  soul  of  the  sinner  loved  God  and  believed 
in  His  mercy,  and  came  to  the  doors  of  heaven. 

And  the  sinner  began  to  knock  and  beg  to  be 
admitted  into  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven. 

And  he  heard  a  voice  behind  the  door  saying  : 
"What  man  is  this  that  knocketh  at  the  door  of 
Heaven,  and  what  deeds  hath  he  done  in  his 
lifetime  ?  " 

And  the  voice  of  the  Accuser  answered,  and  counted 
up  all  the  sinful  deeds  of  this  man.  And  he  named 
no  good  deeds  at  all. 

And  the  voice  behind  the  door  answered  :  "  Sinners 
cannot  enter  into  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven.  Depart 
hence  1 " 

And  the  man  said  :  "  My  Lord  !     I  hear  thy  voice, 
249 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

but  thy  face  I  do  not  see,  and  thy  name  I  know 
not." 

And  the  voice  answered  :  "  I  am  Peter  the  Apostle." 

And  the  sinner  said  :  "  Have  pity  upon  me,  Peter 
the  Apostle,  and  be  mindful  of  human  weakness  and 
the  mercy  of  God.  Wert  not  thou  a  disciple  of 
Christ;  didst  thou  not  hear  His  teaching  from  His  very 
h'ps  and  see  the  example  of  His  life  ?  And  remember 
— when  He  was  afflicted  and  tormented  in  spirit,  and 
begged  thee  three  times  not  to  sleep  but  to  pray, 
thou  didst  sleep  because  thine  eyes  were  heavy,  and 
three  times  He  found  thee  sleeping.  And  so  it  hath 
been  with  me. 

"And  remember,  too,  how  thou  didst  promise 
Him  not  to  deny  Him  even  unto  death,  and  how 
thou  didst  thrice  deny  Him  when  they  brought 
Him  before  Caiaphas.     And  so  it  hath  been  with  me. 

"  And  remember,  too,  how  the  cock  crew,  and  thou 
didst  depart  and  weep  bitterly.  So  it  hath  been 
with  me.     Thou  can'st  not  but  let  me  in." 

And  the  voice  behind  the  door  of  Paradise  was 
silent. 

And  after  no  very  long  delay  the  sinner  again 
began  to  knock  at  the  door  and  ask  to  be  admitted 
into  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven. 

And  another  voice  was  heard  to  speak  from  behind 
the  door,  and  it  said  :  "  What  man  is  this,  and  what 
manner  of  life  did  he  live  in  the  world  ? " 

And  the  voice  of  the  Accuser  replied,  and  recounted 
all  the  evil  deeds  of  the  sinner,  and  named  no  good 
deeds  at  all. 

And  the  voice  behind  the  door  answered  :  "  Depart 
250 


The  Penitent  Sinner 

hence  ;  such  sinners  cannot  live  together  with  us  in 
Heaven." 

And  the  sinner  said  :  "  My  Lord,  I  hear  thy  voices 
but  thy  face  I  see  not,  and  I  do  not  know  thy  name." 

And  the  voice  said  to  him :  '*  I  am  King  David 
the  Prophet." 

And  the  sinner  did  not  despair,  and  did  not 
depart  from  the  door  of  Heaven,  and  began  to  say  • 
"  Have  pity  upon  me.  King  David,  and  remember 
human  weakness  and  the  mercy  of  God.  God 
loved  thee  and  exalted  thee  in  the  eyes  of  the 
people.  Everything  was  thine — dominion  and  glory 
and  riches  and  wives  and  children  ;  and  thou  didst 
behold  from  thy  roof  the  wife  of  a  poor  man,  and  sin 
awakened  in  thee,  and  thou  didst  take  the  wife  of 
Uriah  and  didst  slay  Uriah  himself  with  the  sword 
of  the  Ammonites.  Thou,  the  rich  man,  didst  take 
from  the  poor  man  his  last  little  lamb,  and  destroyed 
the  man  himself     So  it  hath  been  with  me. 

"And  remember  how,  afterwards,  thou  didst 
repent  and  say :  *  I  acknowledge  my  faults,  and  my 
sins  are  ever  before  me.'  So  it  hath  been  with  me. 
Thou  can'st  not  but  let  me  in." 

And  the  voice  behind  the  door  was  hushed. 

And  in  a  little  while  the  sinner  again  began  to 
knock  at  the  door  and  beg  to  be  admitted  into  the 
Kingdom  of  Heaven.  And  for  the  third  time  a  voice 
was  heard  behind  the  door  saying :  "  Who  is  this 
man,  and  how  hath  he  lived  his  life  in  the  world  ?  " 

And  the  voice  of  the  Accuser  answered  for  the 
third  time,  and  recounted  all  the  evil  deeds  of  the 
man,  and  named  no  good  deeds  at  all. 

251 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

And  the  voice  answered  from  behind  the  door  and 
said  :  "  Depart  hence  !  Sinners  cannot  enter  into  the 
Kingdom  of  Heaven." 

And  the  sinner  answered :  "  Thy  voice  I  hear,  but 
thy  face  I  see  not,  and  I  do  not  know  thy  name." 

And  the  voice  answered  :  "  I  am  John  the  Divine, 
the  disciple  whom  Jesus  loved." 

And  the  sinner  rejoiced  and  said  :  **  Now  thou 
can'st  not  refuse  to  let  me  in.  Peter  and  David 
might  have  let  me  in  because  they  knew  the  weakness 
of  man  and  the  mercy  of  God.  And  thou  wilt  let 
me  in  because  thou  lovest  much.  Didst  not  thou, 
oh,  John  the  Divine,  write  in  thy  book  that  God  is 
Love,  and  he  that  loveth  not  knoweth  not  God  ? 
Didst  thou  not  in  thine  old  age  say  this  one  sentence 
to  the  people  :  *  Brethren,  love  one  another '  ?  How 
then  can'st  thou  now  begin  to  hate  me  and  drive 
me  away  ?  Either  deny  what  thou  thyself  hast  said, 
or  else  let  me  into  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven." 

And  the  gates  of  Paradise  were  opened,  and  John 
embraced  the  penitent  sinner,  and  admitted  him  into 
the  Kingdom  of  Heaven. 


252 


IX.— THREE    DEATHS 

I. 

It  was  Autumn.  A  carriage  and  a  calesche  were 
proceeding  at  a  sharp  trot  along  the  high-road.  In 
the  carriage  sat  two  women.  One  of  them  wsls  the 
mistress,  thin  and  pale.  The  other  was  the  maid, 
smug,  florid,  and  buxom.  Her  short  dry  tresses 
peeped  forth  from  under  her  faded  bonnet,  her  pretty 
hand  in  her  torn  glove  readjusted  them  from  time  to 
time  ;  her  swelling  bosom,  covered  by  a  rug,  was  full 
of  the  breath  of  health  ;  her  quick  black  eyes  glanced 
at  one  moment  out  of  the  wmdow  /'a<t  the  scurrying 
fields,  at  another  stared  fee^i/^it  Jh^  mistress,  or 
glanced  uneasily  at  the  corners  of  the  carriage. 
Before  the  very  nose  of  the  waiting-maid  the  bonnet 
of  her  mistress,  attached  to  the  netting  of  the  carriage, 
rocked  to  and  fro ;  on  her  knees  lay  a  lap-dog,  her 
legs  were  hunched  up,  the  hand-box  standing  on  the 
floor  of  the  carriage  and  the  drumming  of  her  feet 
upon  it  was  just  audible  amidst  the  creaking  of  the 
carriage-springs  and  the  clattering  of  the  window- 
glasses. 

With  her  hands  on  her  knees,  and  closed  eyes,  the 
mistress  rocked  softly  015  the  pillows  piled  up 
behind  her,  and  kept  on  coughing  an  internal  cough, 

253 


IVIope  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

at  the  same  time  slightly  wrinkling  her  brows.  On 
her  head  was  a  white  night-cap,  and  a  blue  handker- 
chief was  fastened  round  her  fresh,  white  neck.  The 
straight  parting,  continuing  beneath  the  night-cap, 
divided  the  reddish,  extraordinarily  flat,  well- 
preserved  hair,  and  there  was  something  dry  and 
death-like  in  the  whiteness  of  the  skin  of  this  broad 
parting.  The  withered,  somewhat  yellowish  skin 
hung  somewhat  loosely  on  the  delicate  and  pretty  face, 
and  the  cheeks  and  jaws  had  a  pinkish  hue.  Her 
lips  were  dry  and  restless,  her  travelling  cloth  dress 
lay  in  straight  folds  over  her  shrunken  bosom.  Not- 
withstanding that  her  eyes  were  closed,  the  face  of 
the  mistress  expressed  weariness,  irritation,  and 
suffering. 

The  lackey,  perched  upon  the  box-seat,  was 
dozing ;  the  post-driver,  shouting  vigorously,  whipped 
lip  his  sturdy,  sweating  team  of  four,  glancing  around 
occasionally  at  the  other  post-driver  behind  him  in 
■the  calesche,  who  was  bawling  out  just  as  lustily.  The 
broad,  double  traces  of  the  rapidly  revolving  tyres 
extended  evenly  along  in  the  chalky  mud  of  the  road. 
The  sky  was  grey  and  cold — a  cold  mist  enveloped  the 
plain  and  the  road.  It  was  stuffy  in  the  carriage, 
which  smelt  of  eau  de  cologne  and  dust.  The  sick 
woman  stretched  back  her  head  and  gradually  opened 
her  eyes.  Her  large  eyes  were  sparkling  and  of  a 
very  pretty  dark  colour. 

"  There  it  is  again,"  she  said,  irritably  shoving  aside 
with  her  pretty,  wasted  hand  the  corner  of  the 
crinoline  of  her  maid,  which  had  barely  touched  her 
leg,  and  her  mouth  pouted  peevishly.       The  maid 

254 


Three  Deaths 

grasped  her  crinoline  with  both  hands,  rose  for  a 
moment  on  her  sturdy  legs,  and  sat  a  little  further 
off.  Her  fresh  face  had  a  bright  flush  upon  it  The 
beautiful  dark  eyes  of  the  invalid  greedily  followed 
every  movement  of  the  maid.  Presently  the  mistress 
rested  both  arms  on  the  seat  of  the  carriage,  and  also 
tried  to  raise  herself  in  order  to  sit  up  a  little  higher, 
but  her  strength  failed  her.  Her  mouth  pouted,  and 
her  whole  face  wore  an  expression  of  impotent,  angry 
scorn. 

"  Help  me,  would  you !  It  is  really  quite  un- 
necessary. I  can  do  it  myself,  only  don't  load  me 
with  your — what  shall  I  call  them — your  sacks  then — 
have  a  little  mercy!  Better  not  touch  me  at  all  if 
you  can't  do  better  than  that !  " 

The  mistress  closed  her  eyes — ^presently  she  quickly 
raised  her  eyelids  again  and  glanced  at  her  maid. 
The  maid,  as  she  returned  her  gaze,  nibbled  at  her 
pretty  lower  lip.  A  deep  sigh  arose  from  the  invalid's 
breast,  but  the  sigh  ended  in  a  cough.  She  turned 
aside,  puckered  her  brow,  and  grasped  her  bosom  with 
both  hands.  When  the  cough  ceased  she  closed  her 
eyes  again  and  continued  to  sit  motionless.  The 
carriage  and  the  calesche  entered  a  village.  The 
maid  drew  her  plump  hand  from  beneath  her  jacket 
and  crossed  herself. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  her  mistress. 

"  A  posting-station,  my  lady." 

"Why  did  you  cross  yourself?  I  ask." 

"  We  passed  the  church,  my  lady." 

The  invalid  turned  to  the  window,  and  began  slowly 
to  cross  herself,  looking  with  all  her  big  eyes  at  the 

255 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

large  village  church,  round  which  the  invalid's  carriage 
was  just  then  passing. 

The  carriage  and  calesche  stopped  together  at  the 
postingHstation.  Out:  of  the  calesche  stepped  the 
sick  woman's  husband  and  the  doctor,  who  came  up 
to  the  carriage. 

"  How  are  you  now?  "  asked  the  doctor,  taking  her 
hand  and  feeling  her  pulse. 

"  Are  you  not  a  little  tired,  my  friend  ?  "  inquired 
her  husband  in  French.  "  Don't  you  want  to  get 
out?" 

The  maid,  looking  after  her  wraps,  squeezed  herself 
into  a  corner,  so  as  to  be  as  much  out  of  the  way  of 
the  conversation  as  possible. 

"  Pretty  much  the  same  as  before,  but  it  doesn't 
matter,"  replied  the  invalid     "I  won't  get  out." 

The  husband,  after  pausing  a  short  time,  went  into 
the  post-station-  The  maid,  skipping  out  of  the 
carriage,  tripped  lightly  on  the  tips  of  her  toes  over 
the  mud  into  the  open  door. 

"  My  feeling  bad  is  no  reason  why  you  should  not 
have  your  breakfast,"  said  the  invalid,  smiling  slightly 
at  the  doctor,  who  was  standing  at  the  carriage 
window.  "  Not  one  of  them  mind  me,"  added  she, 
as  soon  as  the  doctor  had,  with  noiseless  step,  quitted 
her,  and  darted  up  the  steps  of  the  post-station  like 
a  lynx.  "  They  are  well — so  it  is  all  one  to  them. 
Oh,  my  God!" 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Edward  Ivanovich,"  said  the 
husband,  encountering  the  doctor  and  pressing  his 
arms  with  a  merry  smile,  "  I  have  ordered  them  to 
bring  us  a  drink.     What  do  you  say  to  that  ?  " 

256 


Three  Deaths 

"  Ob,  that's  all  right,"  replied  the  doctor. 

'*  And  what  about  her?  "  asked  the  husband  with  a 
sigh,  lowering  his  voice  and  raising  his  brows. 

"  I  say  that  she  cannot  go  as  far  as  Italy — ^please 
God  she  may  reach  Moscow — especially  this  weather." 

"  My  God,  my  God !  What's  to  be  done,  then?  "— 
and  the  husband  put  his  hand  over  his  eyes. 
"  Here !  "  he  added,  addressing  the  man  who  was 
bringing  the  drink. 

"  The  idea  must  be  given  up,"  answered  the  doctor, 
shrugging  his  shoulders. 

"  But  tell  me  what  I  am  to  do !  "  insisted  the 
husband.  "  You  know  I  have  done  everything  to 
prevent  her.  I  spoke  about  my  means  and  about 
the  children,  whom  we  should  have  to  leave  behind, 
and  about  my  affairs — and  she  would  listen  to 
nothing.  She  makes  her  plans  for  living  abroad  just 
as  if  she  were  quite  well.  And  to  tell  her  of  her  real 
condition ! — well,  you  might  just  as  well  kill  her  out- 
right." 

"  She's  as  good  as  dead,  already,  you  ought  to-  know 
that,  Vasily  Dmitrievich.  A  person  can't  live  when  he 
has  no  lungs,  and  lungs  can't  grow  agairu  It  is 
melancholy,  miserable.  But  what's  to  be  done  ?  All 
that  you  and  I  can  now  do  is  to  take  care  that  the 
rest  of  the  road  is  as  easy  as  possible.  This  is  now  a 
case  for  a  priest." 

"  Ah,  my  God !  you  understand  my  position,  how 
can  I  remind  her  of  her  last  will !  Come  what  may, 
I  cannot  tell  her  that.  You  know  how  good  she 
is.     .     ." 

"  Nevertheless,  you  ought  to  try  and  persuade  her 

257  R 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

to  stop  till  the  winter  season,"  said  the  doctor,  shaking 
his  head  significantly — "  and  then  the  roads  might 
be  bad." 

"  Aksusha !  Aksusha !  "  screamed  the  datighter  of 
the  post-master,  throwing  a  shawl  round  her  head, 
and  dashing  down  the  muddy  back  staircase,  "  come 
and  look  at  Lady  Shirkinskaya,  they  say  she's  going 
abroad  for  breast  sickness.  I  have  never  seen  how 
consumptives  look  before." 

Aksusha  leaped  across  the  threshold,  and  the  pair 
of  them,  taking  each  other  by  the  hand,  ran  out  to 
the  gate.  Slackening  their  steps,  they  passed  close 
to  the  carriage  and  stared  into  the  open  window. 
The  invalid  turned  her  head  towards  them,  but, 
observing  their  curiosity,  frowned  and  turned  away. 

"  Little  mother !  "  cried  the  post-master's  daughter, 
quickly  turning  her  head  round,  "how  wonderfully 
beautiful  she  used  to  be,  and  what  is  she  now  ! 
It  is  frightful.  Did  you  see  her — did  you  see  her, 
Aksusha  > " 

*'  And  how  lean  ! "  chimed  in  Aksusha.  "  Come,  let 
us  see  what  is  in  the  bottom  of  the  coach.  Look,  she 
has  turned  away,  and  I  have  not  seen  half.  What  a 
pity,  Masha!  " 

"  Yes,  and  how  muddy  it  is !  " — ^and  they  both  ran 
back  through  the  gate  again. 

"  I  suppose  I  do  look  frightful,"  thought  the  invalid. 
"  Oh,  only  let  us  make  haste,  make  haste  and  go 
abroad,  and  then  I  shall  soon  pick  up  again." 

"  Well,  how  are  you  now,  my  friend  ?  "  said  the 
husband,  coming  to  the  carriage,  and  still  chewing 
a  morsel  of  something. 

258 


Three  Deaths 

"  Always  the  same  question !  "  thought  the  invaUd. 
"  Anyhow,  it  doesn't  seem  to  interfere  with  his 
appetite." 

"  Oh,  it's  nothing !  "  she  murmured  between  her 
teeth. 

"  ril  tell  you  what,  my  friend,  I  fear  you'll  be  all  the 
worse  for  the  journey,  especially  in  this  weather,  and 
Edward  Ivanovich  says  the  same  thing.  What  do 
you  say  to  turning  back  home  ?  " 

She  was  too  angry  to  speak. 

"  The  weather  may  be  better  presently,  we  could 
postpone  the  journey,  and  you  would  then  be  better — 
we  might  all  go  together." 

"  Pardon  me !  If  I  hadn't  listened  to  you  all  this 
time,  I  might  have  been  in  Berlin  by  now  and  quite 
well  again." 

"  What  was  to  be  done,  my  angel,  you  know  it  was 
quite  impossible.  But  if  you  would  only  stop  at  home 
for  a  month  say,  you  would  get  ever  so  much  better, 
I  could  complete  my  business,  and  we  might  take  the 
children." 

"  The  children  are  well,  but  I  am  not." 
"  But,    my    friend,   just   think !      What   with    this 
weather,  suppose  you  grew  worse  on  the  road     .     .     . 
while  at  home,  at  any  rate     .     .     ." 

"  Home  indeed !  Why,  I  should  only  die  at  home," 
replied  the   sick  woman  passionately. 

But  the  word  die  plainly  frightened  her — she  grew 
silent  and  looked  interrogatively  at  her  husband.  He 
cast  down  his  eyes  and  was  silent.  The  mouth  of 
the  invalid  suddenly  put  on  a  childish  pout  and  the 
tears  flowed  from  her  eyes.     Her  husband  covered 

259 


More  Tales  fpom  Tolstoi 

bis  face  with  his  pocket-handkerchief,  and  withdrew 
from  the  carriage. 

"  No,  I  will  go"  said  the  invalid,  raising  her  eyes 
to  heaven,  and  she  folded  her  arms  and  began  to 
mutter  incoherently:  "Why  is  it  so,  why  is  it  so? 
My  God,  my  God ! "  she  said,  and  the  tears  flowed 
still   more  violently. 

She  prayed  long  and  fervently,  but  her  bosom 
remained  just  as  sick  and  sore ;  in  the  sky,  in  the 
fields,  on  the  road,  everything  remained  just  as  grey 
and  dull ;  and  that  autumn  mist  neither  denser,  nor 
thinner,  lay  just  as  before  over  the  mud  of  the  road 
and  over  the  roofs  of  the  cottages,  and  over  the 
carnages  and  the  sheepskins  of  the  post-drivers  who, 
conversing  together  with  strong  and  merry  voices, 
were  oiling  the  wheels  of  the  vehicles  and  putting 
fresh  horses  to. 

11. 

The  carriage  was  ready,  but  the  driver  still  delayed 
— he  had  entered  the  common  room  of  the  post- 
ing-station. It  was  hot,  stuffy,  dark,  and  oppressive 
in  the  post-station  room,  which  smelt  of  people,  baked 
bread,  cabbage,  and  sheepskins.  A  good  many  post- 
drivers  were  in  the  living-room,  the  cook  was  busy 
about  the  stove,  and  on  the  stove  in  sheepskins  lay  a 
sick  man. 

"Uncle  Khveder,  Uncle  Khveder,  I  say,"  cried  a 
lyoung  fellow,  a  post-driver  in  a  sheepskin  pelisse  and 
with  his  whip  in  his  belt,  entering  the  room  and 
turning  towards  the  sick  man. 

"  What  are  you  skulking  about  for,  Fed'ka,  eh  ? " 

260 


Three  Deaths 

asked  one  of  the  other  drivers,  "  don't  you  know 
the  carriage  is  waiting  for  you  ?  " 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  him  for  his  boots  as  mine  are 
busted,"  repHed  the  fellow,  throwing  back  his  hair 
and  thrusting  his  gauntlet  gloves  into  his  girdle  ;  "  hie, 
Uncle  Khveder,  are  you  asleep  ?  "  he  repeated,  march- 
ing up  to  the  stove. 

"What  is  it?"  sounded  a  faint  voice,  and  a  thin, 
red-bearded  face  peeped  over  the  stove.  A  broad, 
bleached,  and  wasted  hand,  covered  with  hair,  with 
an  effort  drew  an  armyak  over  a  skinny  shoulder, 
hardly  hidden  by  a  muddy  shirt  "  Give  me  a  drink, 
brother!     What's  the  matter?  " 

The  young  fellow  brought  him  a  pitcher  full  of 
water.  "  Look  now,  Teddy,"  said  he,  after  a  pause, 
"  you  won't  want  these  new  boots  of  yours  any  more 
now,  give  'em  to  me.  You  won't  walk  about  any 
more  now,  will  you  ?  " 

The  sick  man  bent  his  weary  head  over  the  glazed 
pitcher  and,  moistening  his  sparse  pendent  moustaches 
in  the  dark  water,  drank  feebly  and  greedily.  His 
touzled  beard  was  not  clean,  his  sunken,  turbid  eyes 
raised  themselves  with  difficulty  to  the  young  fellow's 
face.  On  withdrawing  from  the  water  he  wanted  to 
raise  his  arm  in  order  to  wipe  dry  his  moist  lips  but 
could  not,  and  dried  them  on  the  sleeve  of  his 
mnnyak^  instead.  In  silence,  and  breathing  heavily 
through  his  nose,  he  looked  straight  into  the  eyes  of 
the  young  fellow,  rallying  all  his  strength. 

"  You  haven't  promised  them  to  anyone  else,  have 
you?"   said    the    youth,    "it    doesn't   much    matter. 

*  A  blouse  of  camel's  hair. 
261 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

The  main  thing  is,  it's  mucky  out  of  doors  and  I've 
work  to  do,  so  I  said  to  myself ;  '  Just  ask  Teddy 
for  his  boots,  he  won't  want  'em  any  more,  anyhow.' 
Now,  say  yourself:   what  good  are  they  to  you?" 

Something  in  the  sick  man's  breast  overflowed  and 
buzzed,  he  bent  over  and  ^ave  himself  up  to  a  throaty 
coughing  fit  which  he  could  not  rid  himself  of. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  what  g^ood  are  they  to  you  ?  "  angrily 
and  unexpectedly  croaked  the  cook,  her  voice  filled 
the  room :  "  you  haven't  stirred  from  the  stove  this 
month  and  more,  you  know  you're  gone  all  to  pieces  ; 
why,  your  inside  is  all  wrong,  didn't  you  hear  it  just 
now  ?  What  does  he  w^ant  with  new  boots,  he  won't 
be  buried  in  them,  I  suppose  }  And  it's  high  time  I 
think  for  you  to  pray  the  Lord  to  forgive  you  your 
sins.  You're  gone  all  to  pieces  I  say.  You  cem't  take 
him  from  one  room  to  another  or  anywhere  else. 
I  hear  there  are  hospitals  in  town,  but  what's  the 
good  of  that? — every  corner  is  occupied,  and  he's 
about  done  for.  There's  no  room  for  you,  anyhow, 
and  besides,  they  like  to  have  clean  folks." 

"  Hello,  Serega !  take  your  place,  the  gentlefolks 
are  waiting !  "  the  voice  of  the  post-station  starosta 
shouted  in  at  the  door. 

Serega  would  have  gone  out  without  waiting  for  an 
answer,  but  he  could  see  by  the  eyes  of  the  sick  man 
all  the  time  he  was  coughing  that  he  wanted  to  say 
something. 

"  You  may  take  the  boots,  Serega !  "  said  he, 
suppressing  the  cough  and  breathing  a  little  more 
freely,  "  but  listen !  buy  me  a  head-stone  when  I  die," 
he  added  hoarsely. 

262 


Three  Deaths 


"  Thanks,  uncle !  Then  I  may  take  them,  eh  ? 
And  a  head-stone,  eh  ?     Yes,  yes,  I'll  buy  one  for  you." 

"  There,  you  hear  what  he  says,  my  children  ?  "  the 
sick  man  was  able  to  bring  out,  and  then  he  bent 
down  again,  stifled  by  a  recurring  cough. 

"Yes,  it's  a  bargain,  we  have  heard,"  said  one  of 
the  drivers. 

"  Come,  Serega,  take  your  seat,"  said  the  starosta, 
looking  in  again,  "  Lady  Shirkinskaya  is  ill,  you 
know." 
1^  Serega  quickly  divested  himself  of  his  big,  worn- 
i^out,  bulgy  boots,  and  pitched  them  under  a  bench. 
The  new  boots  of  Uncle  Khveder  fitted  him  at  the 
first  try  on,  and  Serega,  glancing  down  at  them  as  he 
departed,  went   out  to   the   carriage. 

"  Those  are  something  like  boots  ;  let  me  give  them 
a  polish,"  said  the  driver,  with  the  polishing-brush  in 
his  hands,  as  Serega,  mounting  on  to  the  box,  took 
the  reins.     "  Did  you  get  'em  for  nothing?  " 

"Looks  like,  doesn't  it?  "  replied  Serega,  standing 
up  and  arranging  the  folds  of  his  yarmak  round  his 
legs.  "  And  now,  off  you  go,  my  beauties !  "  he  cried 
to  the  horses,  cracking  his  whip,  and  the  carriage  and 
the  calesche  with  their  passengers,  trunks,  and 
baggage,  vanished  in  the  grey  autumn  mist,  rolling 
quickly  along  the  wet  road. 

The  sick  driver  remained  in  the  stuffy  room  on  the 
stove,  and  without  coughing  his  cough  out,  with  an 
effort  turned  upon  the  other  side  and  was  quiet. 

People  came  in  and  went  out  of  the  room  and  had 

I     their  meals  in  the  room  till  evening,  and  all  that  time 

the  sick  man  did  not  utter  a  sound.     At  nightfall  the 

263 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

cook  came  to  the  stove,  and  pulled  out  the  hiliip'^ 
from  beneath  his  legs. 

"  Don't  be  angry,  Nastasia,"  muttered  the  sick  man, 
"  but  I  beg  of  you  to  let  me  have  your  corner." 

"All  right,  all  right!  Of  course!  what  does  it 
matter ! "  growled  Nastasia,  •'  but  tell  me,  uncle,  where 
does  it  hurt  you  ?  " 

"All  my  inside  is  queer.  God  knows  what's  the 
matter." 

"Never  mind!  Does  your  throat  hurt  you  when 
you  cough  ?  " 

"  I  ache  all  over.  I'm  going  to  die,  that's  what  it 
is ;   oh,  oh,  oh !  "  groaned  the  sick  man. 

"  Cover  up  your  feet,  that's  what  you've  got  to  do," 
said  Nastasia,  coming  down  from  the  stove  and 
spreading  the  yarmak  over  him  on  her  way  down. 

During  the  night  the  night-lamp  faintly  lit  the 
room.  Nastasia  and  ten  of  the  drivers  slept  on  the 
floor  or  on  benches,  snoring  loudly.  Only  the  sick 
man  feebly  moaned,  coughed,  and  turned  from  side 
to  side  upon  the  stove.  By  the  morning  he  was  quite 
still. 

"  I  had  such  an  odd  dream  last  night,"  said  the 
cook,  stretching  herself  in  the  dim  half-light  of  dawn, 
next  morning ;  "  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  saw  Uncle 
Khveder  come  down  from  the  stove  and  go  out  to 
chop  wood.  *  How  can  I  help  you,  Nassy  ?  '  says  he, 
and  I  said  to  him,  '  Why  don't  you  go  out  and  chop 
wood  ? '  So  he  takes  up  the  chopper  and  begins  to 
chop  wood,  chopping  it  so  quickly  that  the  splinters 
flew  about  in  every  direction.     *  Why,  how's  this  ? ' 

*  A  sheepskin  pelisse. 
264 


Three  Deaths 

says  I  ;  *  you  were  so  ill.'  *  No,'  says  he,  *  I  am  well,' 
and  as  he  kept  moving  his  hands,  a  great  terror  fell 
upon  me,  and  I  shrieked  and  awoke.  He  can't  be 
dead,  surely?  Uncle  Khveder,  Uncle  Khveder,  I 
say!" 

But  no  sound  came  from  Theodore. 

"  Surely  he's  not  dead  ?  Let's  go  and  see !  "  said 
one  of  the  drowsy  drivers  half  awake. 

The  wasted  hand,  hanging  down  from  the  stove 
and  covered  with  reddish  hair,  was  cold  and  white. 

"  Go  and  tell  the  inspector !  He  seems  to  be  dead," 
said  the  driver. 

Theodore  had  no  kinsfolk — he  had  outlived  them 
all.  Next  day  they  buried  him  in  the  new  church- 
yard behind  the  wood ;  and  for  the  next  few  days 
Nastasia  kept  telling  everyone  of  the  strange  vision 
she  had  seen  and  how  she  had  been  the  first  to  miss 
Uncle  Theodore. 

III. 

Spring  had  come.  In  the  wet  streets  of  the  town, 
among  the  frozen  manure-heaps  gurgled  scurrying 
streamlets ;  the  colours  of  the  garments  and  the  con- 
versation of  the  people  moving  about  the  town  were 
bright  and  cheerful.  In  the  little  gardens  behind  the 
fences  the  buds  of  the  trees  were  bursting  forth,  and 
their  branches  were  rocked  almost  audibly  by  the 
fresh  breezes.  There  was  a  universal  thaw,  a 
constant  dripping  of  transparent  drops.  The  sparrows 
were  chirping  tumultuously  and  darting  about  on  their 
tiny  wings.     On  the  sunny  side  of  the  road,  behind 

265 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

fences,  in  town  houses  and  country  houses,  everything 
was  Hght  and  motion.  In  the  sky,  on  the  earth,  and 
in  the  heart  of  man,  youth  and  happiness  revived. 

In  one  of  the  principal  streets,  in  front  of  a  gentle- 
man's mansion,  fresh  straw  had  been  laid  down ;  in 
the  house  was  that  selfsame  dying  invalid  who  had 
been  so  eager  to  go  abroad. 

At  the  closed  doors  of  the  bedchamber  stood  the 
husband  of  the  invalid  and  a  portly  woman.  On  the 
divan  sat  a  priest  with  dejected  eyes,  holding  some- 
thing wrapped  up  in  an  epitrachilion.  In  a  large 
arm-chair  in  a  corner  lay  an  old  woman,  the  mother 
of  the  invalid,  weeping  convulsively.  By  her  side 
stood  a  maid  holding  in  her  hand  a  clean  pocket- 
handkerchief,  and  waiting  till  the  old  woman  asked 
for  it;  another  maid  was  rubbing  the  old  woman's 
temples  with  something  or  other,  and  blowing  under 
her  cap  among  her  grey  hairs. 

"Well,  Christ  be  with  you,  my  friend,"  said  the 
husband  to  the  stout  woman  standing  by  his  side 
at  the  door  (his  wife's  sister),  *'  she  has  such 
confidence  in  you ;  you  know  how  to  talk  to  her,  you 
see,  so  go  in  and  persuade  her  nicely,  my  dear."  He 
would  have  opened  the  door  for  her  there  and  then, 
but  the  sister  prevented  him,  at  the  same  time 
dabbing  her  eyes  with  her  handkerchief  and  shaking 
her  head. 

"  Well,  I  don't  look  now  as  if  I  had  been  crying," 
said  she,  and,  opening  the  door  herself,  she  went  in. 

The  husband  was  violently  agitated,  and  seemed 
quite  distraught.  He  made  his  way  towards  the  old 
woman,  but  before  he  had   taken   more  than  a  few 

266 


Three  Deaths 

paces,  he  turned  back,  walked  across  the  room  and 
approached  the  priest.  The  priest  looked  up  at  him, 
raised  his  brows  to  heaven  and  sighed.  His  thick, 
grizzled  beard  rose  aloft  and  sank  down  again 
simultaneously. 

"  My  God !  my  God !  "  said  the  husband. 

"  What's  to  be  done  ?  "  said  the  priest  sighing,  and 
again  his  brows  and  his  beard  rose  and  fell. 

"  And  her  mother  there ! "  said  the  husband 
desperately.  "  It  is  more  than  she  can  bear.  How 
she  did  love  her  .  .  .  !  7  don't  know  what  to 
do.  You,  my  father,  do  try  and  quiet  her  and  induce 
her  to  go  away  from  here." 

The  priest  got  up  and  went  to  the  old  woman. 

"  A  mother's  heart ! — ah !  who  can  estimate  its  love  ? 
yet  God  is  merciful,"  said  he. 

The  old  woman's  face  suddenly  became  overcast 
and  she  began  to  sob. 

"  God  is  merciful,"  repeated  the  priest  when  she 
had  grown  a  little  calmer.  "  I  may  also  tell  you  that 
in  my  parish  there  was  a  sick  woman  much  worse 
than  Maria  Dmitrievna,  and  what  do  you  think? — 
a  simple  shopkeeper  cured  her  by  means  of  herbs 
in  a  short  time.  And  this  same  shopkeeper  is  now 
in  Moscow.  I  was  telling  Vasily  Dmitrievich  that 
we  might  try  the  experiment.  At  any  rate,  it  might 
afford  the  patient  relief.  With  God  all  things  are 
possible." 

"  No,  she  won't  live !  "  interrupted  the  old  woman. 
"  What  will  become  of  me  if  God  takes  her  ?  "  And 
she  gave  way  to  such  passionate  emotion  that  she 
lost  consciousness. 

267 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

The  husband  of  the  invaHd  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands  and  rushed  out  of  the  room 

The  first  person  he  met  in  the  corridor  outside  was 
his  Httle  lad,  six  years  of  age,  chasing  his  Httle  sister, 
and  full  of  the  spirit  of  the  thing. 

"  What !  Didn't  they  tell  you  to  bring  the  children 
to  mamma  ?  "  he  asked  the  nurse. 

"  No,  she  didn't  want  to  see  them," 

The  little  lad  stopped  for  one  instant,  gazed  intently 
at  his  father's  face,  suddenly  kicked  out  his  foot,  and 
with  a  merry  cry  ran  on  further. 

"  She's  pretending  to  be  my  little  black  horse," 
shrieked  the  lad,  pointing  at  his  little  sister. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  other  room,  the  sister  was  sitting 
by  the  side  of  the  invalid,  and,  by  means  of  an  art- 
fully prepared  conversation,  was  endeavouring  to 
prepare  her  for  the  thought  of  death.  The  doctor 
was  mixing  a  draught  at  the  other  v/indow. 

The  invalid,  in  a  white  dressing-gown,  and  propped 
up  all  round  with  pillows,  was  sitting  up  in  bed  and 
looking  at  her  sister  in  silence. 

"Ah,  my  friend,"  she  cried,  suddenly  interrupting 
her,  "  don't  prepare  me !  'Don't  take  me  for  a  child. 
I'm  a  Christian  woman,  I  know  all  about  it.  I  know 
I  have  not  long  to  live.  I  know  that  if  my  husband 
had  listened  to  me  sooner  I  should  now  have  been 
in  Italy,  and  possibly — nay,  certainly — ^would  have 
been  quite  well.  They  all  told  him  so.  But  what 
are  we  to  do  if  God  wills  it  so  ?  We  have  all  a  great 
many  sins  to  answer  for,  I  know  that ;  but  I  trust  in 
God's  mercy  to  forgive  us  all— I  am  sure  He  will  forgive 
us  all.     I  try  to  understand  myself,  and  I  know  I  have 

268 


Three  Deaths 

many  sins  to  answer  for,  my  friend.  But  then,  what 
a  lot  I  have  suffered !  I  try  to  endure  my  sufferings 
patiently." 

"  Then  let  me  send  for  the  little  father,  my  friend, 
it  will  be  still  easier  for  you  to  communicate,"  said 
the  sister. 

The  invalid  inclined  her  head  by  way  of  assent. 

"  God  forgive  me — a  sinner !  " — she   murmured. 

The  sister  went  out  and  beckoned  to  the  little 
father. 

"  She  is  an  angel,"  she  said  to  the  husband  with 
tears  in  her  eyes. 

The  husband  began  to  weep,  the  priest  passed 
through  the  door,  the  old  woman  still  remained  un- 
conscious, and  everything  in  the  antechamber  was 
perfectly  quiet.  In  about  five  minutes  the  priest  came 
out  of  the  door  again,  and,  taking  off  the  epitrachilion, 
smoothed  his  hair. 

"  Thank  God  she  is  calmer  now,"  said  he,  "  she 
wants  to  see  you  all." 

The  sister  and  the  husband  went  in.  The 
invalid  was  weeping  softly  and  looking  at  the  holy 
image. 

"  I  congratulate  you,  my  friend,"  said  the  husband. 

"  I  thank  you.  How  well  it  is  with  me  now,  what 
an  inexpressible  joy  I  feel,"  said  the  invalid,  and  a 
light  smile  played  upon  her  thin  lips.  "  How  merciful 
God  is ! — is  He  not  ?  He  is  merciful  and  almighty." 
And  with  an  eager  prayer  on  her  lips  and  streaming 
eyes,  she  again  gazed  upon  the  holy  image. 

Suddenly  something  seemed  to  occur  to  her,  she 
beckoned  to  her  husband  to  draw  near. 

269 


IVIore  Tales  fpom  Tolstoi 

"You  never  will  do  what  I  ask  you,"  said  she 
with  a  weak  and  querulous  voice. 

The  husband,  extending  his  neck,  listened  humbly. 

"What  is  it,  my  friend?  " 

"  How  many  times  haven't  I  said  that  these  doctors 
know  nothinp-?  It  is  the  simple  medicines  that  really 
cure.  .  .  The  little  father  has  just  been  saying — 
there's  a  shopkeeper     .     .     .     Send ! " 

"  For  whom,   my  friend  ?  " 

"  My  God,  you  will  understand  nothing,"  and  the 
sick  woman  frowned  and  closed  her  eyes. 

The  doctor  came  up  and  took  her  hand.  The 
pulse  was  plainly  beating  feebler  and  feebler.  He 
beckoned  to  the  husband.  The  invalid  observed  the 
gesture  and  looked  round  her  in  terror.  The  sister 
turned  aside  and  wept. 

"  Don^t  weep,  don't  torture  yourself  and  me ! " 
said  the  invalid — "  it  deprives  me  of  the  little  calm- 
ness I  have  left" 

"  You  are  an  angel,"  said  the  sister,  kissing  her 
hand. 

"  No,  no,  kiss  me  here !  ...  it  is  only  corpses 
whose  hands  we  kiss !     My  God,  my  God !  " 

That  same  evening  the  invalid  was  already  a  corpse, 
and  the  corpse  was  placed  upon  a  bier  in  the  saloon 
of  that  large  house.  In  that  large  apartment,  with 
closed  doors,  sat  a  solitary  Vyachok,'*'  singing  in 
cadence  through  his  nose  the  Psalms  of  David.  The 
bright  light  from  the  wax-candles  on  the  large  silver 
candelabra  fell  on  the  white  forehead  of  the  defunct, 
on  her  heavy  waxen  hands,  on  the  stone-stiff  folds 

*  A  church  singer. 
270 


Three  Deaths 

of  the  pall,  and  on  the  frightfully  pronninent  knees 
and  toes.  The  Uyachok,  without  understanding 
what  he  was  saying,  went  on  reciting  in  a  deliberately 
measured  tone,  and  in  that  silent  chamber  the  words 
sounded  and  died  away  strangely.  Now  and  then, 
from  a  distant  room,  came  flying  the  sound  of  childish 
voices  and  childish  uproar. 

"  When  Thou  hidest  Thy  Face  they  are  troubled," 
saith  the  Psalter ;  "  when  Thou  takest  away  their 
breath  they  die  and  return  again  to  their  dust.  When 
Thou  sendest  forth  Thy  Spirit  they  arise  and  renew 
the  face  of  the  Earth.  And  the  Glory  of  the  Lord 
shall  endure  for  ever." 

The  face  of  the  defunct  was  solemn  and  majestic. 
The  pure  cold  forehead,  the  firmly-closed  lips,  were 
motionless.  She  was  all  attention.  But  did  she 
understand  even  then  those  sublime  words } 

IV. 

In  a  month's  time  a  marble  monument  was  erected 
over  the  tomb  of  the  deceased.  The  grave  of  the 
post-driver  was  still  without  its  head-stone,  and  only 
the  bright  green  grass  had  covered  the  little  mound 
which  served  as  the  sole  sign  of  the  existence  of  a 
man  who  had  passed  away. 

"  Great  will  be  your  sin,  Serega,  if  you  do  not  buy 
a  stone  for  Khveder,"  said  the  cook  more  than  once. 
"You've  been  saying  winter's  time  enough,  winter's 
time  enough,  and  even  now  you  haven't  kept  your 
word.  It  was  all  said  and  done  at  my  place 
remember." 

271 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

"Well,  and  have  I  said  I  wouldn't?"  answered 
Serega.  "  Til  buy  a  stone  as  I  said  I  would  ;  I'll  buy 
a  stone  I  say  if  I  pay  a  rouble  and  a  half  for  it.  I 
have  not  forgotten  that  it  must  be  put  up.  Whenever 
I've  occasion  to  go  to  town  I'll  buy  it." 

"  You  might,  at  any  rate,  put  up  a  cross !  "  put  in 
an  old  driver,  *'  it's  downright  bad  of  you — why,  you're 
still  wearing  the  boots !  " 

"  Where  shall  I  get  a  cross  from? — you  can't  hew  it 
without  a  log." 

*'  Can't  hew  it  without  a  log,  eh  ?  A  nice  excuse ! 
Take  an  axe,  go  into  the  wood  early,  and  then 
you'll  hew  it  out  easily  enough !  Cut  down  a 
young  aspen,  and  that'll  give  you  a  golubets*  right 
enough." 

Early  in  the  morning,  when  day  had  scarce  begun 
to  dawn,  Serega  took  his  axe  and  went  out  into  the 
wood. 

Over  everything  lay  a  cold,  whitish  covering  of  still- 
falling  dew,  unilluminated  by  the  sun.  The  east  was 
brightening  imperceptibly,  and  its  feeble  light  was 
reflected  on  the  fine  passing  clouds  suspended  in  the 
vault  of  heaven.  Not  a  single  blade  of  grass  below, 
not  a  single  leaf  on  the  higih  branches  of  the  trees 
was  astir.  Only  the  rarely  audible  flutter  of  little 
wings  in  the  thickest  part  of  the  forest,  or  a  rustling 
on  the  ground  disturbed  the  silence  of  the  wood. 
Suddenly,  a  sound  strange  to  Nature  arose,  and  then 
died  away  again  on  the  border  of  the  forest.  But 
again  this  sound  arose,  and  began  to  be  repeated 
at  regular   intervals   on  the   ground   below,   around 

*  A  grave  cross,  with  a  covering  over  it. 
272 


Three  Deaths 

the  trunk  of  one  of  the  motionless  trees.  Next  the 
crown  of  one  of  the  trees  began  to  shiver  unusually, 
its  sappy  leaves  began  to  whisper  something,  and  a 
wagtail  sitting  on  one  of  its  branches,  took  a  hop 
or  two,  and  then,  waving  its  tail,  hopped,  with  a  faint 
piping  cry,  on  tO'  the  next  tree. 

The  axe  below  gave  forth  a  deeper  and  deeper 
sound,  sappy  white  chips  began  to  fly  about  on  the 
dewy  grass,  and  a  light  cracking  sound  followed  hard 
upon  the  blows.  The  whole  body  of  the  tree 
trembled,  bent  forward,  and  quickly  righted  itself 
again,  tottering  fearfully  to  its  very  roots.  For  an 
instant  all  was  quiet,  but  again  the  tree  stooped 
forward  a  little  ;  the  cracking  in  its  trunk  was  again 
audible,  and,  smashing  its  branches  and  shedding 
abroad  its  twigs,  it  crashed  down  forwards  on  to  the 
damp  earth.  The  sounds  of  the  axe  and  the  footsteps 
ceased.  The  wagtail  whistled  again,  and  hopped 
a  little  higher.  The  branch  to  which  it  had  been 
clinging  rocked  to  and  fro  for  a  time,  and  then  died 
like  the  rest  with  all  its  leaves.  The  other  trees 
stood  forth  more  beauteously  and  joyfully  than  ever, 
with  their  motionless  branches  in  this  new  free 
space. 

The  first  rays  of  the  sun  penetrating  the  transparent 
clouds  lit  up  the  heavens,  and  rapidly  traversed  earth 
and  sky.  The  misty  billows  began  to  overflow  the 
valleys,  the  glistening  dew  played  upon  the  green 
foliage  and  herbage,  transparent  whitening  clouds 
ran  in  haste  across  the  blue  vault  of  heaven.  The 
birds  swarmed  restlessly  in  the  depths  of  the  forest, 
and,     as     if     beside     themselves,     kept     twittering 

273  S 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

delightfully  ;  the  sappy  leaves  whispered  joyously  and 
calmly  on  the  tree-tops,  and  the  branches  of  the 
living  trees  gravely,  sublimely,  rustled  over  the  dead 
body  of  the  fallen  tree. 


274 


X.— THE    STORY   OF   IVAN   THE    FOOL 

I. 

Once  upon  a  time,  in  a  certain  Kingdom  in  a 
certain  Empire,  dwelt  a  rich  muzhik.  And  this  rich 
muzhik  had  three  sons — Simeon  the  Warrior,  and 
Taras  Big  Paunch,  and  Ivan  the  Fool,  and  a  daughter, 
Malan'ya  Pitcher  Ear,  who  was  dumb.  Simeon  the 
Soldier  went  to  war  to  serve  the  Tsar,  Taras  Big 
Paunch  went  to  town  to  a  merchant's  to  trade,  and 
Ivan  the  Fool  and  the  girl  remained  at  home  to  work 
and  earn  stripes.  Simeon  the  Warrior  won  for 
himself  a  high  office  and  an  estate,  and  married  a 
gentleman's  daughter.  He  had  a  large  salary  and  a 
large  estate,  and  yet  he  could  not  make  both  ends 
meet:  what  the  husband  gathered  in  the  gentle- 
woman-wife scattered  with  both  hands  ;  there  was 
never  any  money.  And  Simeon  went  to  his  estate 
to  collect  his  rents.  And  his  overseer  said  to  him : 
"  There  is  nothing  to  take ;  we  have  neither  cattle, 
nor  implements,  nor  horses,  nor  cows,  nor  ploughs, 
nor  harrows ;  we  must  provide  ourselves  with  every- 
thing, and  then  there'll  be  something  to  collect." 
And  Simeon  the  Warrior  went  to  his  father  and  said : 
*'Thou  art  rich,  little  father,  yet  hast  thou  given  me 

275 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

nought.     Give  me  a  third  portion,  and  I  will  go  and 
settle  down  on  my  estate." 

But  the  old  man  answered :  ''  Thou  hast  added 
nought  to  the  household  ;  wherefore,  then,  should 
I  give  thee  a  third  portion  ?  It  would  be  to  the  hurt 
and  harm  of  Ivan  and  the  girl." 

But  Simeon  answered  :  "  Why,  he  is  but  a  fool, 
and  she  is  a  dumb,  pitcher-eared  thing ;  what  good 
would  it  be  to  them  ?  " 

**  But  what  does  Ivan'  say  about  it  ? "  asked  the 
old  man. 

Ivan  said  :  "  What  does  it  matter  ?  Let  him  have 
it!" 

So  Simeon  the  Warrior  took  the  third  portion  and 
departed  to  his  estate,  and  then  went  away  again  to 
serve  the  Tsar. 

And  Taras  Big  Paunch  also  earned  a  lot  of  money 
and  married  a  merchant's  daughter,  yet  all  he  had 
was  too  little  for  him.  He  also  came  to  his  father 
and  said  :  **  Give  me  my  portion  !  " 

The  old  man  did  not  wish  to  give  Taras  his 
portion. 

'*Thou  hast  added  nought  to  us,"  said  he,  *'and 
Ivan  hath  earned  all  that  is  in  the  house.  Nor  can  I 
injure  him  and  the  girl." 

But  Taras  said  :  '*  What  matters  it  to  him  ?  he's 
a  fool !  To  marry  him  is  impossible,  nobody  would 
take  him ;  and  the  girl,  too,  is  dumb,  and  of  no  use  to 
anybody.  Give  me,  Ivan,"  said  he,  "  half  of  the  corn. 
I  won't  take  the  farm  implements,  and  of  the  cattle  I 
will  take  only  the  dark-grey  stallion — he  is  no  good 
to  you  for  ploughing,  you  know." 

2^6 


The  Stopy  of  Ivan  the  Fool 

Ivan  began  to  laugh.  ''  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  shall  go 
and  turn  about  a  little  more,  that's  all." 

So  they  gave  to  Taras  his  portion  also.  Taras 
took  the  corn  to  town  ;  he  took  also  the  dark-grey 
stallion,  and  left  Ivan  with  nothing  but  an  old  mare 
to  go  on  doing  farm  labourer's  work  as  before,  and 
support  his  father  and  mother. 


II. 


Now  the  Devil,  that  old  serpent,  was  vexed  that 
the  brothers  had  not  quarrelled  over  their  affairs,  and 
had  parted  amicably.  And  he  called  to  him  three  of 
his  imps. 

"  You  see,"  said  he,  **  how  these  three  brothers  live, 
Simeon  the  Warrior,  and  Taras  Big  Paunch,  and 
Ivan  the  Fool.  We  ought  to  have  set  them  all  by 
the  ears,  and  yet  they  live  peaceably  and  treat  one 
another  hospitably.  This  fool  has  spoiled  all  my 
plans.  Go  now,  ye  three,  and  take  these  three 
brothers  in  hand,  and  vex  them  till  they  tear  each 
other's  eyes  out.     Can  you  do  this  ?  " 

*'  We  can,"  said  the  imps. 

"  How,  then,  will  you  set  about  it  ?  " 

"  Thus  will  we  do,"  said  they.  "  First  of  all  we'll 
ruin  them  all  so  utterly  that  they'll  have  nought  to 
eat,  and  then  we'll  huddle  them  together  into  one 
heap;  and  they'll  tear  each  other  to  pieces." 

"  Good  ! "  said  the  Devil.  "  I  see  that  you  under- 
stand your  business.  And  now  be  off,  and  don't 
come  back  to  me  till  you  have  drawn  the  skins  of  all 
three  of  them  ove  r  their  ears." 

277 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

Then  the  three  imps  retired  into  a  swamp  and 
deliberated  together  as  to  how  they  should  set  about 
the  business.  They  wrangled  and  wrangled ;  each 
one  of  them  wanted  to  devise  the  easiest  way  to 
carry  out  the  affair,  and  at  last  they  decided  to  cast 
lots  to  determine  what  each  of  them  was  to  do. 
And  it  was  agreed  that  if  any  one  of  them  should 
finish  his  part  of  the  work  before  the  others,  he  was 
to  come  and  help  the  other  two.  So  the  imps  cast 
lots,  and  fixed  a  time  when  they  were  again  to  come 
together  in  the  swamp  to  find  out  which  of  them 
had  finished  his  part  of  the  work,  and  which  of  them 
wanted  help  to  finish  his. 

The  set  time  arrived,  and  the  imps  came  together 
again  in  the  swamp  as  agreed,  to  talk  matters  over. 
And  they  told  one  another  how  things  had  gone 
with  them. 

And  the  first  imp  began  to  tell  them  of  Simeon 
the  Warrior.  "  My  affair  is  finished,"  said  he.  "  To- 
morrow my  Simeon  returns  to  his  father,"  said 
he. 

And  his  comrades  fell  to  question  him. 

"  How  did  you  manage  it  ?  "  they  asked. 

"  First  of  all,"  said  he,  "  I  inspired  Simeon  with 
such  valour  that  he  promised  his  Tsar  to  win  the 
whole  world  for  him.  And  the  Tsar  made  Simeon 
his  chief  captain  and  sent  him  to  wage  war  against 
the  Tsar  of  India.  So  they  went  forth  to  war.  And 
the  same  night  I  moistened  all  the  gunpowder  in  the 
army  of  Simeon,  and  then  I  went  to  the  Indian  Tsar 
and  made  him  soldiers  out  of  straw,  as  many  as  the 
eye  could  see,  and  more.     The  soldiers  of  %neon 

278  "^ 


The  Story  of  Ivan  the  Fool 

saw  the  straw  soldiers  advancing  upon  them  from 
all  sides,  and  they  were  afraid.  Simeon  ordered 
them  to  fire  the  guns,  and  the  guns  would  not  go 
off.  The  soldiers  of  Simeon  were  terrified,  and  ran 
away  like  sheep.  And  the  Indian  Tsar  routed  them. 
Simeon  was  wounded,  and  they  took  away  from  him 
his  estate  and  would  have  punished  him  on  the 
morrow.  But  I  came  at  the  nick  of  time  and 
released  him  from  prison  in  order  that  he  might  run 
away  home.  To-morrow  my  part  of  the  job  will  be 
finished ;  but  say,  now,  which  of  you  two  requires 
help?" 

Then  the  second  imp  began  to  tell  them  how 
he  had  fared  with  Taras. 

"  I  have  no  need  of  your  help,"  said  he,  "  my  little 
affair  is  also  going  along  swimmingly.  Taras  wont 
hold  out  for  another  week,  I  know.  First  of  all," 
said  he,  "  I  made  his  big  paunch  stick  out  more  than 
ever,  and  inspired  him  with  envy.  So  envious  did 
he  become  of  other  folks'  goods  that  whatever  he  saw 
he  wanted  to  buy.  He  bought  all  that  his  eye  could 
see,  and  more  ;  he  spent  all  his  money,  and  he  bought 
yet  more  besides.  Now  he  has  begun  to  buy  on 
credit.  He  has  saddled  himself  finely,  I  can  tell  you, 
and  is  so  involved  that  he  will  never  be  able  to 
disengage  himself  In  a  week  it  will  be  settling  day, 
and  I  will  turn  all  his  wares  into  rubbish  ;  he  will 
not  be  able  to  pay,  and  will  return  to  his  father's 
house." 

Then  they  began  asking  the  third  imp  about  Ivan. 
*  How  did j/our  affair  go  off? "  they  asked. 

"  Well,  my  affair  hasn't  come  off  at  all,"  said  he. 

279 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

"  First  of  all  I  spat  into  his  kvas^  pitcher  so  as  to 
make  his  body  ache,  and  I  went  over  his  fields  and 
beat  the  ground  till  it  was  as  hard  as  a  stone,  so  that 
he  could  do  nothing  with  it.  I  thought  he  would  not 
plough  it  up,  but  he,  fool  as  he  is,  came  along  with 
his  plough  and  began  to  toil  away.  He  groaned 
because  his  body  ached,  but  he  went  on  ploughing 
all  the  same.  I  broke  one  ploughshare  for  him,  but 
home  he  went,  put  another  to  rights,  harnessed  two 
fresh  horses  to  it,  and  again  set  to  work  ploughing. 
I  crept  up  from  under  the  ground  to  hold  the  plough- 
shares, but  I  couldn't  hold  them  fast  anyhow  ;  then 
I  laid  me  on  the  plough,  but  the  ploughshares  were 
very  sharp  and  cut  my  hands  to  pieces.  He 
ploughed  up  nearly  the  whole  field — only  one  little 
strip  remained,  and  so  just  because  we  have  not 
got  the  better  of  this  one  fellow  all  our  labour  is 
thrown  away.  If  the  fool  is  let  alone  and  continues 
to  do  labourer's  work  the  other  two  will  want  for 
nothing,  for  he  will  support  his  two  brothers." 

Then  Simeon  the  Warrior's  imp  promised  to  come 
and  help  his  fellow  imp  on  the  morrow,  whereupon 
the  three  imps  separated. 

HI. 

Ivan  had  ploughed  up  all  his  field,  only  one  tiny 
strip  remained  unploughed.  He  came  the  next  day 
to  finish  his  ploughing.  His  body  ached,  but  the 
ploughing  had  to  be  done.  He  saw  to  the  harness- 
gear,  turned  the  plough  round,  and  began  to  plough. 

*  An  acid  beverage  of  the  Russian  peasants. 
280 


The  Story  of  Ivan  the  Fool 

He  had  made  the  turn  of  the  field  once,  and  was 
coming  back  when,  just  as  if  it  had  stuck  to  some 
root,  the  plough  began  to  drag  heavily.  It  was  the 
little  imp,  who  had  wound  his  legs  firmly  round  the 
ploughshare,  and  was  holding  on  fast.  "  What 
marvel  is  this  ?  "  thought  Ivan,  "  there  are  no  roots 
here,  yet  it  is  a  root."  Ivan  thrust  his  hand  into  the 
furrow  and  felt  it — it  was  soft.  He  seized  upon 
something  and  drew  it  forth.  It  was  like  a  black 
root,  and  on  the  root  something  was  moving.  Lo 
and  behold  !  it  was  a  live  imp.  "  Ugh  ;  'tis  thou, 
then,  thou  filthy  one  ! "  said  Ivan.  Ivan  swung  his 
hand  round  and  would  have  smashed  the  imp,  but 
the  imp  besought  him. 

"  Don't  beat  me/'  said  he, "  and  I'll  do  whatever  you 
desire." 

"  What  can  you  do  for  me  ?  " 

"  Only  say  what  you  want !  " 

Ivan  scratched  his  head.  "  My  stomach  aches,'* 
said  he  at  last,  "  can  you  put  it  right  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  im.p. 

"  Then  cure  it ! " 

The  imp  bent  over  the  furrow  and  scraped  and 
scraped  with  his  nails,  and  drew  out  a  little  root,  or 
rather  three  little  roots  intertwined,  and  gave  them 
to  Ivan. 

"  Look  ! "  said  he,  "  whoever  swallows  one  of  these 
tiny  roots  loses  all  his  pains." 

So  Ivan  took  it,  broke  off  one  little  root,  and 
swallowed  it.  And  immediately  his  stomach  was 
quite  well. 

Again  the  imp  besought  him.  "  Let  me  go  now  ! " 
281 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

said  he.    "  I  will  vanish  through  the  earth,  I  don't 
want  to  roam  about  any  more." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Ivan,  "  God  be  with  you  ! "  And 
no  sooner  had  he  pronounced  the  name  of  God  than 
the  imp  vanished  rapidly  under  the  earth  like  a  stone 
dropped  into  water,  leaving  nothing  but  a  hole  in  the 
ground  behind  him.  And  Ivan  thrust  the  other  two 
little  roots  into  his  hat  and  went  on  ploughing  till 
he  had  finished.  He  ploughed  away  to  the  very  end 
of  the  little  unploughed  strip,  turned  his  plough 
about,  and  went  home.  He  entered  the  house,  and 
there  was  his  elder  brother,  Simeon  the  Warrior, 
sitting  down  with  his  wife  and  having  supper.  They 
had  taken  away  his  property,  he  had  escaped  from 
his  dungeon  by  the  skin  of  his  teeth,  and  he  had  run 
home  to  live  with  his  father. 

Simeon  caught  sight  of  Ivan.  "  I  have  come  to 
live  with  you,"  said  he ;  "  feed  me  and  my  wife  till 
we  have  found  a  fresh  place  for  ourselves." 

"  All  right,"  said  he,  "  you  may  live  here  if  you  like." 

All  that  Ivan  wanted  was  to  sit  down  at  the  end 
of  the  bench,  but  the  smell  of  Ivan  was  by  no  means 
agreeable  to  the  gentlewoman-wife  of  Simeon  the 
Soldier.  "  I  cannot  have  my  supper  with  a  stinking 
muzhik,"  said  she  to  her  husband. 

Then  said  Simeon  the  Soldier :  "  My  lady,"  said 
he,  "does  not  like  your  smell,  you  had  better  eat 
your  supper  in  the  outhouse." 

"  All  right,"  said  Ivan.  "  It  is  also  time  for  me  to 
go  to  bed  and  feed  the  mare." 

So  Ivan  took  his  bread  and  his  caftan  and  went  to 
his  night  lodging. 

282 


The  Stopy  of  Ivan  the  Fool 
IV. 

That  night  the  imp  of  Simeon  the  Soldier,  having 
finished  the  work  he  had  in  hand,  went,  according  to 
agreement,  to  seek  the  imp  of  Ivan  to  assist  him  to 
do  for  the  fool.  He  went  into  the  ploughed  field 
and  searched  and  searched  for  his  comrade,  but 
nowhere  was  he  to  be  found — all  he  could  see  was 
a  hole  in  the  ground.  "Well,"  thought  he,  "some 
mischief  must  have  happened  to  my  comrade  ;  I  must 
take  his  place.  The  field  has  been  ploughed  to  the 
very  end.  We  must  torment  the  fool  out  of  his  wits 
in  the  hay  field." 

So  the  imp  went  into  the  meadow  and  fell  upon 
Ivan's  hay  crop,  and  he  covered  the  whole  of  the 
hay  with  mud.  At  dawn  of  day  Ivan  left  his  bed, 
took  out  his  scythe  and  went  into  the  meadow  to 
mow.  Ivan  reached  the  meadow  and  began  to  mow ; 
he  swung  his  arm  round  once  or  twice,  the  scythe 
was  blunted  and  would  not  cut — he  had  to  sharpen 
it.  Ivan  exerted  his  whole  strength  again  and  again. 
'*  No,  it  is  no  good,"  said  he,  "  I  will  go  home  and 
bring  out  a  bench  and  a  big  round  hearthcake.  If 
I  have  to  toil  and  moil  for  a  week  I  won't  leave  off 
till  I  have  mowed  this  field  from  one  end  to  the 
other." 

The  imp  heard  this,  and  thought  to  himself:  "  This 
fool  is  a  regular  out-and-outer,  there's  no  getting 
over  him.     We  must  have  resort  to  something  else." 

So  Ivan  came,  took  out  his  scythe,  and  began  to 
mow.  The  imp  crept  through  the  grass  and  seized 
the  scythe  by  the  blade  in  order  to  shove  the  sharp 

283 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

end  into  the  ground.  It  was  hard  work  for  Ivan, 
but  he  mowed  away  to  the  very  end — at  last  only  a 
little  bit  of  rough  ground  on  the  swamp  remained. 
The  imp  crept  into  the  swamp,  and  he  thought  to 
himself :  "  Even  if  I  lose  my  paws  by  it,  I'll  not 
allow  him  to  mow  the  place  to  the  very  end."  Ivan 
waded  into  the  swamp  ;  from  the  look  of  it  the  grass 
did  not  seem  very  thick,  yet  the  scythe  could  not 
turn  it  over.  Ivan  grew  wroth,  he  began  to  swing 
his  arms  with  all  his  might ;  the  imp  began  to  give 
in,  he  could  not  leap  back  quickly  enough ;  he  saw 
that  it  was  a  bad  business,  and  he  hid  himself  in  the 
bushes.  Ivan  swung  his  arms  still  more  vigorously, 
came  trampling  through  the  bushes  and  sliced  off 
half  of  the  imp's  tail.  Ivan  mowed  his  field  to  the 
very  end,  ordered  the  wench  to  rake  it  together,  while 
he  himself  went  to  mow  his  rye. 

He  went  out  with  a  reaping-hook,  and  the  imp 
with  the  docked  tail,  who  was  already  on  the  spot, 
tangled  all  the  rye  so  that  the  hook  could  make 
no  way  with  it.  Ivan  turned  him  about,  took  a 
sickle,  and  began  to  mow  the  rye  down,  and  mowed 
every  bit  of  the  rye.  "  I  must  now  go  and  gather 
the  rye,"  said  he. 

The  imp  with  the  docked  tail  heard  this  and 
thought :  "  I  couldn't  manage  the  rye,  but  I'll  go 
and  play  havoc  with  the  oats  ;  only  wait  till  to- 
morrow ! "  The  imp  came  running  in  the  early  morn- 
ing to  the  oat  field,  and  the  oats  were  already  mown. 
Ivan  had  mown  it  down  in  the  night  so  as  to  waste 
no  time.  The  imp  was  very  wroth.  "  This  fool,"  said 
he,   "has  maimed  and  tormented   me.      In  warfare, 

284 


The  Story  of  Ivan  the  Fool 

even,  I  have  not  seen  such  wounds.  The  accursed 
one  never  sleeps,  and  there  is  no  overtaking  him. 
ril  now  go  to  the  ricks  and  spoil  the  whole  lot  of 
them  for  him." 

And  the  imp  went  to  the  rye  ricks  and  crept 
among  the  sheaves  and  began  to  spoil  them  :  he 
warmed  them  well  and  warmed  himself,  and  then 
fell  asleep. 

But  Ivan  harnessed  the  mare  and  came  along  with 
the  wench  to  carry  away  the  corn.  He  came  to  the 
rye  ricks  and  began  to  pitch  the  sheaves,  one  by  one, 
on  to  the  wagon.  He  pitched  down  two  sheaves, 
thrust  in  his  hand  for  another,  and  caught  the  imp 
from  behind.  He  raised  it  up  and  looked  at  it. 
There  was  a  live  imp  struggling  on  the  pitchfork 
and  his  tail  was  docked,  and  the  creature  was  writh- 
ing and  struggling  and  trying  to  get  away. 

"Hillo!  thou  filthy  one,  here  again,  eh?"  cried 
Ivan. 

"  That  was  my  brother.  I  am  another  one.  I  was 
with  your  brother  Simeon  the  Soldier,"  said  the  imp. 

"  Well,"  said  Ivan,  "  whether  you  were  here  before 
or  not,  your  fate  shall  be  the  same,"  and  he  would 
have  smashed  the  vile  thing  there  and  then.  But 
the  imp  besought  him,  saying : 

"  Let  me  go  and  I'll  do  nothing  more,  and  I'll  also 
do  whatever  you  want." 

"  But  what  can  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  can  make  soldiers  out  of  whatever  you  like." 

"  But  what's  the  good  of  them  ?  " 

"They  can  do  whatever  you  turn  them  to,  they 
can  do  everthing." 

285 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

"  Can  they  sing  songs  ? " 

"  Yes,  they  can." 

"  Then  make  them  for  me,"  said  Ivan. 

And  the  imp  said  :  "  Look  now  !  take  one  of  these 
rye  sheaves,  shake  it  on  the  ground,  and  say  only 
these  words  : 


*  By  my  henchman's  leave 
Cease  to  be  a  sheaf!' 


and  you'll  have  as  many  soldiers  as  you  have  straws 
in  your  hand." 

Ivan  took  the  sheaf,  shook  it  on  the  ground,  and 
said  as  the  imp  had  bidden  him.  And  the  sheaf 
leapt  asunder  and  the  straws  turned  into  soldiers,  and 
in  front  of  them  marched  the  drummer  drumming 
and  the  trumpeter  trumpeting.  And  Ivan  laughed 
heartily  when  he  saw  it. 

"  Aye !  but  you're  clever,"  said  he.  "  This  is 
capital — it  will  amuse  the  wench." 

"  And  now,"  said  the  imp, ''  let  me  go  ! " 

"  No,"  said  Ivan,  "  I  shall  only  do  this  thing  for 
sport,  but  not  a  grain  of  corn  shall  be  thrown  away 
for  nothing.  Teach  me  how  to  turn  them  into 
sheaves  again.     I  shall  want  to  thresh  them  out." 

And  the  imp  said  :  "  Say  : 


*  So  many  soldiers, 
So  many  straw  stalks, 
By  my  henchman's  command 
As  sheaves  again  stand.'  " 


Ivan  said  this,  and  the  soldiers  became  sheaves 
again. 

286 


The  Stopy  of  Ivan  the  Fool 

Then  the  imp  besought  him  again  and  said  :  "  Let 
me  go  now !  " 

"  Very  well,"  said  Ivan,  and  pressing  him  down,  he 
stretched  out  his  arm  and  pulled  him  off  the  pitch- 
fork. *'  In  God's  name,"  said  he ;  and  no  sooner  had 
he  spoken  of  God  than  the  imp  plunged  under 
ground  like  a  stone  thrown  in  the  water,  and  only  a 
hole  remained. 

Ivan  went  home,  and  at  home  he  found  his  second 
brother,  Taras,  sitting  down  with  his  wife  having 
supper.  Taras  Big  Paunch  had  not  settled  his 
accounts,  but  had  run  away  from  his  debts  and  gone 
to  his  father.     Now  he  caught  sight  of  Ivan. 

"  Hillo,  Ivan ! "  said  he,  "  while  I  look  about  me  a 
bit  you  must  feed  me  and  my  wife." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Ivan,  "  you  may  live  here  if  you 
like." 

Then  Ivan  took  off  his  caftan  and  sat  down  to 
table. 

But  the  merchant's  wife  said  :  "  I  cannot  eat  with 
the  fool,  he  smells  of  sweat." 

Then  Taras  Big  Paunch  also  said :  *'  You  have 
not  a  nice  smell,  Ivan,  go  and  take  you  meals  in  the 
shed." 

"  All  right ! "  said  he,  and  taking  up  his  bread  he 
went  into  the  yard.  "  It  just  suits  me,"  said  he,  "  I 
can  now  feed  the  mare  at  the  right  time." 


V. 


The  imp  of  Taras  Big  Paunch  left  him  that  same 
evening,  and  went  to  help  his  comrades,  as  arranged, 

287 


Mope  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

to  get  the  better  of  Ivan  the  Fool.  He  went  into 
the  ploughed  field  and  searched  for  his  comrades,  but 
there  was  no  trace  of  them — all  that  he  saw  was  a 
hole  in  the  ground.  He  went  to  the  meadow  and 
there,  near  the  swamp,  he  found  part  of  a  tail,  and 
in  the  stubble  field  where  the  rye  ricks  were  he  found 
another  hole.  "  Well,"  thought  he,  "  'tis  plain  some 
mischief  has  befallen  my  comrades.  I  must  step 
into  their  shoes  and  take  this  fool  in  hand  myself" 

So  the  imp  went  to  look  for  Ivan.  Now  Ivan  had 
already  risen,  and  was  cutting  wood  in  the  forest. 

The  brothers,  now  that  they  lived  together,  found 
themselves  straitened  for  room,  and  had  bidden  the 
fool  go  to  the  forest  to  cut  wood  and  build  them 
new  houses. 

The  imp  ran  into  the  forest,  climbed  on  to  a  twig, 
and  began  to  hamper  Ivan  in  his  endeavours  to  fell  a 
tree.  Ivan  had  cut  down  the  tree  in  such  a  way  as 
to  make  it  fall  where  it  ought  to  fall,  in  a  clear  space, 
but  the  tree  fell  badly,  where  it  ought  not  to  have 
fallen,  and  stuck  in  some  branches.  Ivan  cut  out  a 
section  of  it  and  began  to  force  it  over  sideways — 
only  with  the  utmost  exertion  did  he  succeed  at  last 
in  felling  the  tree.  Then  Ivan  set  about  cutting 
down  another,  and  it  was  just  the  same  thing  over 
again.  He  toiled  and  moiled,  and  only  by  the 
utmost  efforts  did  he  fell  the  tree  clear.  He  tackled 
a  third,  and  again  it  was  the  same  thing  all  over 
again.  Ivan  had  thought  of  cutting  out  half  a 
hundred  lathes,  and  he  had  not  cut  ten  and  already 
night  was  at  the  door.  And  Ivan  was  sore  vexed. 
A  steaming  sweat  streamed  from  off  him  like  a  mist 

288 


The  Story  of  Ivan  the  Fool 

rising  from  a  forest,  and  yet  he  did  not  throw  up 
his  task.  He  went  on  chopping  wood,  and  his  back 
began  to  ache  till  he  could  scarce  stand,  so  he  laid 
aside  his  axe  and  sat  him  down  to  rest. 

The  imp  heard  how  Ivan  had  suddenly  become 
quite  quiet,  and  rejoiced  greatly.  "  Ah !  ha ! " 
thought  the  imp,  "he  is  tired  out — he  has  chucked 
it.  I  shall  be  able  to  rest  a  bit,  too,  now."  And  he 
sat  astraddle  on  his  twig  and  rejoiced. 

But  Ivan,  getting  up  again,  seized  his  axe,  stretched  ^ 

out  his  arms,  and  hewed  away  on  the  other  side,  till 
suddenly  the  tree  began  to  crack  and  came  thundering 
down. 

This  time  the  imp  was  not  quick  enough  ;  he  did 
not  draw  out  his  leg  in  time,  the  twig  broke,  and  the 
imp  was  caught  fast  by  the  paw.  Ivan  began  clear- 
ing away  the  ground,  and  lo !  there  was  a  live  imp. 
Ivan  was  astonished. 

"  Ugh,  there  you  are  again,  vilest  one  ! "  said  Ivan. 

"  I  am  not  that  imp,  but  another.  I  was  with  your 
brother  Taras,"  said  the  imp. 

"Well,  whichever  you  are,  your  fate  will  be  the 
same  ! "  And  Ivan  waved  his  axe,  and  would  have 
smitten  him  dead  with  the  back  of  it. 

Then  the  imp  besought  him.  "  Kill  me  not,"  said 
he,  "  and  I  will  do  whatever  you  wish  me  to  do." 

"  And  what  can  you  do,  then  ?  " 

"  I  can  make  as  much  money  for  you  as  you 
want." 

"  Come  along,  then,  and  make  some  ! " 

And  the  imp  taught  him  the  trick. 

*'  Take,"  said  he,  ''  a  leaf  from  that  oak  and  rub  it 
289  T 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

between  your  hands,  and  gold  will  fall  upon  the 
ground." 

And  Ivan  took  the  leaves  and  rubbed  them,  and 
showers  of  gold  fell  all  around  them. 

"  That  will  be  very  nice,"  said  Ivan,  "  when  we 
play  games  with  the  children  on  festivals." 

"  And  now  let  me  go  !  "  said  the  imp. 

"  Very  well,"  replied  Ivan,  and  released  the  imp. 
"  God  be  with  you  ! "  said  he.  And  no  sooner  had 
he  named  the  name  of  God  than  the  imp  plunged 
beneath  the  ground  like  a  stone  into  the  water, 
leaving  but  a  hole  behind  him. 


VI. 


The  brothers  built  up  their  house  and  lived  apart. 
But  Ivan,  having  done  his  work  in  the  fields,  brewed 
beer  and  invited  his  brothers  to  come  and  make 
merry  with  him.  But  the  brothers  would  not  be 
Ivan's  guests.  ''Clodhopper  merriment,"  said  they, 
"  we  will  take  no  notice  of" 

So  Ivan  feasted  the  muzhiks  and  the  women,  and 
drank  a  good  skinful  himself,  and  went  out  tipsy  into 
the  street  to  take  part  in  the  round  dances.  Ivan 
approached  the  dancers  and  bade  the  women  exalt 
him  and  call  him  father. 

"  I'll  give  you,"  said  he,  "  things  the  like  of  which 
you  have  never  seen  before." 

The  women  began  to  laugh,  and  called  him  all 
sorts  of  high-sounding  names.  And  when  they  had 
made   an   end   of  praising   him    they  said :    "  Come 

290 


The  Stopy  of  Ivan  the  Fool 

along,  now !    give    us   something   as    you   said   you 
would." 

"  I'll  bring  you  something  immediately,"  said  he, 
and  seizing  a  seed-box  he  rushed  off  into  the  forest. 
The  women  began  to  laugh,  and  said  :  "  Ha !  ha ! 
what  a  fool  it  is !  "  and  they  forgot  all  about  him. 
But  look  !  Ivan  comes  running  back  from  the  forest 
again,  and  he  carries  his  seed-box  full  of  something. 

"  Have  some,  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  give  us  some  !  " 

Then  Ivan  thrust  his  hand  into  the  seed-box,  drew 
out  a  fist  full  of  gold,  and  threw  it  to  the  women. 
"  Oh,  little  father !  "  cried  they,  and  the  women  flung 
themselves  on  the  gold  and  began  to  pick  it  up. 
Then  the  men  also  came  running  out,  and  fought 
each  other  for  it.  One  old  woman  was  nearly 
crushed  to  death.     Ivan  fell  a-laughing. 

"  Ah  !  you  fools  !  "  said  he,  "  why  do  you  trample 
on  the  old  woman  ?  Come  out  of  that  and  I'll  give 
you  even  more."  And  he  flung  more  and  more 
among  them.  The  people  came  running  together, 
and  Ivan  emptied  the  whole  seed-box  among  them. 
They  asked  him  for  still  more. 

But  Ivan  said  :  "  That's  all.  Another  time  I'll  give 
you  some  more.     Now  dance  a  bit  and  sing  songs." 

Then  the  women  began  to  sing  songs. 

''  Your  singing  is  not  good,"  said  he. 

"Can  you  do  it  better?"  said  they. 

"  rU  show  you  that  straight  away,"  he  answered. 
And  he  went  into  the  barn  and  drew  out  a  sheaf, 
brought  it  down,  placed  it  on  the  ground,  and  gave  it 
a  smart  tap.     "  Well,"  cried  he  : 

291 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

•'  With  my  henchman's  leave, 
Cease  to  be  a  sheaf, 
And  for  each  little  stalk 
Let  a  soldier  walk  !  " 

And  the  sheaf  leaped  asunder,  and  every  separate 
straw  became  a  soldier,  with  drums  and  trumpets  all 
playing  merrily.  Then  Ivan  bade  the  soldiers  play 
songs,  and  marched  with  them  down  the  street.  The 
good  folks  were  amazed.  So  when  the  soldiers  had 
played  their  songs  a  little  while,  Ivan  led  them  back 
into  the  barn,  forbidding  anyone  to  follow  after  him, 
and  turned  the  soldiers  into  a  sheaf  again,  and  flung 
it  on  to  the  rick.  Then  he  went  home  and  lay  down 
to  sleep  in  the  cow-house. 


VII. 


In  the  morning  the  elder  brother,  Simeon  the 
Soldier,  heard  of  all  these  goings  on,  so  he  came 
to  Ivan. 

"  Reveal  to  me,"  said  he,  "  where  you  got  the 
soldiers  from,  and  where  you  have  stowed  them." 

"  What  is  that  to  you  ?  "  said  Ivan. 

"What  is  that  to  me?  Why,  with  soldiers  you 
can  do  everything.  You  can  even  gain  yourself  a 
kingdom." 

Ivan  was  astounded.  "  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  so 
long  ago  ?  "  said  he.  "  I  will  make  for  you  as  many 
as  you  please.  Why,  the  wench  and  I  will  have 
a  fine  time  of  it."  And  Ivan  led  his  brother  into  the 
barn  and  said :  "  Look  now !  I'll  make  'em  for  you, 
and  you  can  march  'em  away,  for  when  it  comes 

292 


The  Stopy  of  Ivan  the  Fool 

to  feeding  them  they  would  swallow  up  the  whole 
village.  Simeon  the  Warrior  promised  to  lead  away 
the  soldiers,  and  Ivan  set  about  making  them.  He 
tapped  on  the  threshing-floor  with  the  sheaf,  and 
there  stood  a  regiment ;  he  tapped  with  another 
sheaf  and  there  stood  another ;  he  made  such  a  lot  of 
soldiers  that  the  whole  field  was  full  of  them. 

"  Is  that  enough  for  you,  eh  ?  " 

Simeon  was  delighted  and  said .  **  That'll  do. 
Thanks,  Ivan." 

"  All  right !  If  you  want  any  more,  come  here  and 
I'll  make  'em  for  you.  There  are  lots  of  straw  stalks 
going  now." 

So  Simeon  the  Warrior  marshalled  his  soldiers  on 
the  spot,  put  them  into  proper  order,  and  went  off  to 
the  wars. 

No  sooner  had  Simeon  the  Warrior  departed  than 
Taras  Big  Paunch  arrived.  He,  too,  had  heard  of 
the  goings-on  yester  evening,  and  began  to  beseech 
his  brother.  *'  Reveal  to  me,"  said  he,  *'  where  you 
got  all  those  gold  coins.  If  I  had  so  much  money 
at  my  disposal  I  could  add  more  and  more  money 
to  it  and  bring  it  in  from  every  corner  of  the 
earth." 

Ivan  was  astonished.  "  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  so 
before  ?  "  said  he.  "  I  will  rub  out  for  you  as  many 
as  you  please." 

His  brother  was  delighted.  "  Give  me  three  seed- 
boxes  full,"  said  he. 

"  Come  along,  then,  into  the  forest,"  said  Ivan, 
"  and  put  to  the  horse  that  you  may  carry  it  all  away  ; 
you  can't  carry  it." 

293 


More  Tales  fpom  Tolstoi 

So  they  went  into  the  forest,  and  Ivan  began 
plucking  leaves  from  the  trees  and  rubbing  them 
between  his  hands.  Soon  he  had' strewn  abroad  a 
large  heap. 

"  Will  that  do  you,  eh  ?  " 

Taras  was  delighted.  "  That  will  do  for  the 
present.     Thanks,  Ivan." 

"  Pooh  ! "  said  he,  "  if  ever  you  want  any  more  come 
to  me,  I  will  rub  out  a  lot  more — there  are  heaps  of 
leaves  left." 

So  Taras  Big  Paunch  carried  off  a  whole  cart-load 
of  money,  and  went  off  to  trade  with  it. 

Both  the  elder  brothers  had  departed  therefore. 
Simeon  the  Warrior  had  gone  to  the  wars  and  Taras 
had  gone  to  trade.  And  Simeon  the  Warrior  won  a 
kingdom  by  his  warfare,  and  Taras  Big  Paunch  made 
a  whole  pile  of  money  by  trading. 

And  the  two  brothers  met  together  and  told  each 
other  all  about  themselves.  Simeon  told  Taras 
whence  he  had  got  his  soldiers,  and  Taras  told 
Simeon  whence  he  had  got  his  money. 

Moreover,  Simeon  the  Warrior  said  to  his  brother  : 
"  I  have  now  won  a  kingdom  by  my  warfare,  and  it 
is  well  with  me,  only  I  want  money  to  feed  my 
soldiers." 

And  Taras  Big  Paunch  said :  *'  I,  too,  have  made  a 
mountain  of  money,  only  the  worst  of  it  is  I  have 
none  to  guard  it,  and  that  bothers  me." 

"  Come,  then ! "  said  Simeon  to  Taras,  "  let  us  go 
to  our  brother.  I  will  bid  him  make  some  more 
soldiers,  and  I'll  give  them  to  you  to  guard  your 
money,  and  you  must  bid  him  rub  out  some  more 

294 


The  Stopy  of  Ivan  the  Fool 

money  that  I  may  have  the  wherewithal  to  feed  my 
soldiers." 

So  they  went  to  seek  Ivan. 

They  came  to  Ivan,  and  Simeon  said  to  him  : 
"  Little  brother,  my  soldiers  are  too  few  for  me  ; 
make  me  some  more  soldiers — two  more  sheaves  will 
do  it  if  you  change  them." 

Ivan  shook  his  head.  "  It's  no  good,"  said  he,  "  I'll 
make  you  no  more  soldiers." 

"  But  how  is  this  ?     You  promised  you  would  ! " 

''I  promised,"  said  he,  "but  I'll  make  no  more." 

"  But  why  won't  you  make  any  more,  you  fool  ?  " 

*'  Because  your  soldiers  kill  people.  A  day  or  two 
ago  I  was  walking  along  the  road  and  what  do  I  see  ? 
a  woman  digging  a  grave  by  the  road,  and  she  was 
weeping.  I  asked  her  :  '  Who  is  dead  ? '  i\nd  she 
said  :  *  Simeon's  soldiers  have  slain  my  husband.'  I 
thought  that  soldiers  were  only  for  singing  songs,  and 
they  murder  people.     I'll  make  no  more  of  them." 

And  he  was  obstinate,  and  would  make  no  more 
soldiers. 

And  Taras  Big  Paunch  also  began  asking  Ivan  the 
Fool  to  make  him  some  more  gold  pieces. 

Ivan  shook  his  head.  "  It's  no  good,"  said  he,  "  I'll 
rub  no  more." 

"  But  how  is  this  ?     You  promised  you  would." 

"  I  promised,"  said  he,  "  and  I  will  rub  no  more." 

"  But  why  wont  you,  you  fool  ?  " 

"  Because  your  gold  pieces  took  away  Mikhailov's 
cow." 

"  Took  away !     How  ? " 
'Twas  thus.     Mikhailov  had  a  cow,  and  it  gave 
295 


« '' 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

milk  to  the  children,  and  a  day  or  two  ago  the 
children  came  to  me  and  begged  for  milk.  *  But 
where  is  your  cow  ? '  I  said  to  them.  They  said  : 
*  Taras  Big  Paunch's  overseer  came  along  and  gave 
mammy  three  gold  pieces  for  the  cow,  and  she  gave 
him  the  cow,  and  now  we've  no  milk  to  sup.'  I 
thought  gold  pieces  were  only  counters  to  play  with, 
and  you  take  away  the  children's  cow  with  them.  I'll 
give  no  more." 

And  the  fool  was  obstinate,  and  would  give  no 
more.     So  the  brothers  went  away. 

The  brothers  went  away  and  consulted  together 
how  they  might  best  cure  the  mischief.  And  Simeon 
said :  "  Look  now !  I'll  tell  you  what  we  will  do. 
You  give  me  money  to  feed  my  soldiers,  and  I'll  give 
you  half  a  kingdom,  with  soldiers  to  guard  your 
money."  And  Taras  consented.  So  the  brothers 
divided  their  goods,  and  both  of  them  became  kings, 
and  both  were  very  rich. 

VIII. 

But  Ivan  stayed  at  home  and  nourished  his  father 
and  mother,  and  laboured  in  the  fields  with  his  dumb 
sister. 

Now,  one  day  Ivan's  old  house-dog  fell  sick  and 
grew  mangy,  and  was  on  the  point  of  expiring.  Ivan 
was  sorry  for  it.  He  got  some  bread  from  the  dumb 
girl,  put  it  into  his  hat,  and  carried  it  out  to  the  dog 
and  threw  it  to  him.  Now,  the  hat  was  torn,  and 
along  with  the  bread  a  little  root  fell  out  of  it,  and 
the  old  dog  snapped  it  up  with  the  bread.     And  no 

296 


The  Stopy  of  Ivan  the  Fool 

sooner  had  it  swallowed  the  little  root  than  the  dog 
began  to  skip  and  play  about,  and  barked  and 
wagged  its  tail,  and  was  quite  well. 

Ivan's  father  and  mother  saw  it,  and  were 
astonished. 

But  Ivan  said  :  **  I  had  two  little  roots  which  cure 
every  disease,  and  the  dog  must  have  swallowed  one." 
Wt  And  it  happened  about  this  time  that  the  King's 
daughter  fell  ill,  and  the  King  proclaimed  throughout 
all  the  towns  and  villages  that  whoever  cured  his 
daughter  the  King  would  reward  him,  and  if  the  man 
were  a  bachelor  he  would  give  him  this  selfsame 
daughter  to  wife.  And  this  proclamation  was  made 
in  Ivan's  village  also. 

Then  his  father  and  mother  called  Ivan  and  said 
to  him  :  "  Have  you  heard  what  the  King  has  pro- 
claimed ?  You  said  you  had  a  healing  root ;  go  now 
and  cure  the  King's  daughter.  You  will  be  happy 
ever  after." 

"All  right!"  cried  Ivan,  and  he  prepared  to  go. 
I  They  dressed  him  up,  and  Ivan  came  out  on  the  top 
of  the  staircase,  and  there  stood  a  poor  beggar  with  a 
-  crooked  arm. 

**  I  have  heard,"  said  he,  **  that  you  can  cure  diseases. 
Cure  my  arms,  for  I  cannot  even  put  on  my  boots." 

"  All  right ! "  said  Ivan,  and  he  got  out  the  root, 
gave  it  to  the  poor  beggar,  and  told  him  to  swallow 
it.  And  the  poor  beggar  swallowed  the  root  and 
was  quite  cured,  and  immediately  began  to  wave  his 
arms  about.  Then  Ivan's  father  and  mother  came 
out  to  lead  him  to  the  King,  and  when  they  heard 
that  Ivan  had  given  laway  his  last  little  root  and  had 

297 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

nothing  left  to  cure  the  King's  daughter;  with  they 
began  to  curse  him. 

"  He  had  pity  on  this  beggar-man,"  said  they,  "  and 
had  no  pity  on  the  King's  daughter." 

Then  Ivan  felt  sorry  for  the  King's  daughter  also, 
so  he  harnessed  his  horse,  flung  some  straw  stalks  in 
a  chest,  and  prepared  to  drive  off. 

*'  Where  are  you  going,  you  fool  ?  " 

"  To  cure  the  King's  daughter." 

"  But  you  have  nought  to  cure  her  with." 

"  All  right ! "  cried  he,  and  whipped  up  the  horses. 

He  came  to  the  King's  Court,  and  no  sooner  had 
he  begun  to  mount  the  staircase  than  the  King's 
daughter  was  cured. 

The  King  rejoiced  greatly,  and  commanded  that 
Ivan  should  be  brought  before  him,  and  they  dressed 
him  in  gallant  array. 

"  Will  you  be  my  son-in-law  ?  "  said  the  King. 

"  All  right ! "  said  Ivan,  so  they  married  Ivan  to  the 
Princess.  Soon  after  that  the  King  died,  and  Ivan 
became  king.     So  all  three  brothers  were  now  kings. 


IX. 


So  the  three  brothers  lived  and  ruled  as  kings. 

With  the  elder  brother,  Simeon  the  Warrior,  things 
went  well.  He  got  real  soldiers  by  means  of  his 
straw  soldiers.  He  commanded  that  every  ten  houses 
throughout  his  kingdom  should  furnish  him  Avith  a 
soldier,  and  each  of  these  soldiers  was  to  have  a  big 
frame  and  a  white  body  and  a  clean  face.  And  he 
got  together  a  great  many  of  such  soldiers  and  taught 

298 


The  Stopy  of  Ivan  the  Fool 

them  their  business  thoroughly.  And  if  anyone 
thwarted  him  in  aught,  immediately  he  sent  forth 
these  soldiers  and  did  whatsoever  seemed  good  to 
him. 

And  everyone  began  to  fear  Simeon  the  Warrior. 

And  his  life  was  a  good  and  pleasant  thing. 
Whatever  he  imagined,  and  whatever  he  fixed  his 
eyes  upon,  that  thing  became  his.  The  soldiers  went 
out  and  took  away  and  bought  in  and  appropriated 
everything  that  he  wanted. 

And  life  was  a  good  and  pleasant  thing  to  Taras 
Big  Paunch  likewise.  He  did  not  lose  the  money  he 
had  got  from  Ivan,  but  more  money  grew  out  of  it. 
And  he,  too,  kept  good  order  in  his  kingdom.  His 
own  money  he  stowed  away  in  chests,  and  squeezed 
more  money  out  of  the  people.  He  squeezed  money 
from,  their  going  to  and  fro,  and  from  their  bast  shoes, 
and  from  their  sandals,  and  from  the  lappets  of 
their  garments,  and  from  their  very  souls.  And 
whatsoever  his  heart  desired  that  he  had.  They 
brought  everything  to  him  for  the  sake  of  a  few 
little  coins,  and  they  came  to  work  for  him  because 
everyone  wanted  money. 

Nor  did  Ivan  the  Fool  have  a  bad  time  of  it.  No 
sooner  had  he  buried  his  father-in-law  than  he  took 
off  all  his  royal  robes  and  gave  them  to  his  wife  to 
hide  away  in  a  big  chest,  put  on  again  his  working 
shirt  and  trousers  and  his  sandals,  and  set  to  work 
again.  "  I  feel  dull,"  he  said,  "  and  my  belly  will 
grow  big,  and  I  shall  neither  eat  nor  sleep."  So 
he  fetched  his  father  and  mother  and  dumb  sister, 
and  set  to  work  again. 

299 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

"But  you're  the  King ! "  said  they. 

"  Well  1 "  said  he,  "  and  I  mean  to  have  the  appetite 
of  a  king." 

His  Minister  came  to  him  and  said  :  "  We  have  no 
money  to  pay  salaries  with." 

"  All  right !  "  said  he,  "  if  you  have  no  money  don't 
pay  them." 

"  But  in  that  case  people  wont  serve." 

"  All  right ! "  said  Ivan,  "  let  them  not  serve,  they 
will  be  at  more  liberty  to  work.  Let  them  cart  the 
manure,  there's  lots  of  it  to  cart." 

And  they  came  to  Ivan  that  he  might  judge 
between  them.  And  one  said  :  "  He  has  robbed  me 
of  my  money." 

"  All  right ! "  said  Ivan  ;  *'  no  doubt  he  wanted  it." 

They  all  recognised  that  Ivan  was  a  fool.  Even 
his  wife  said  to  him  :  "  They  say  that  you  are  a  fool." 

"All  right!"  said  he. 

Ivan's  wife  fell  a-thinking  and  a-thinking  about  it, 
and  she  also  became  a  fool. 

"  Why  should  I  go  against  my  husband  ? "  said  she. 
"  Where  there's  a  needle  there  there's  a  thread."  So 
she  took  off  her  royal  raiment  and  packed  it  away  in 
a  chest,  and  went  to  the  dumb  wench  to  learn  from 
her  how  to  work.  And  she  learnt  how  to  work,  and 
began  to  help  her  husband. 

And  all  the  sensible  folks  left  Ivan's  kingdom — 
only  the  fools  remained  in  it.  And  not  one  of  them 
had  any  money.  They  lived  and  worked  and 
supported  themselves,  and  they  also  supported  good 
people. 


300 


The  Story  of  Ivan  the  Fool 
X. 

Now  the  old  Devil  waited  and  waited  for  news 
from  the  three  imps  as  to  how  they  had  set  the  three 
brothers  by  the  ears.  He  waited  and  waited,  and 
no  news  came.  He  himself  went  out  for  news,  and 
searched  and  searched,  but  nothing  could  he  discover 
but  three  holes.  "Well,"  thought  he,  "it  is  clear 
they  have  not  prevailed.  I  must  see  to  this  business 
myself" 

He  pursued  his  investigations,  and  there  was  no 
trace  of  the  brothers  in  their  old  quarters.  He  found 
them  at  last  in  different  kingdoms,  and  all  three 
of  them  were  reigning  monarchs.  And  the  thing 
offended  the  old  Devil. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "I'll  take  this  matter  in  hand 
myself" 

And  first  of  all  he  went  to  King  Simeon.  Not  in 
his  own  shape  did  he  go,  but  he  turned  himself  into  a 
general,  and  so  he  came  to  King  Simeon.  "  I  have 
heard,"  said  he,  "  that  you.  King  Simeon,  are  a  great 
warrior,  and  I  myself  am  well  versed  in  this  business, 
and  I  would  serve  you." 

King  Simeon  thereupon  put  sundry  questions  to 
him,  saw  that  he  was  a  wise  man,  and  took  him  into 
his  service. 

And  the  new  general  of  King  Simeon  began  to 
show  him  how  to  collect  together  a  large  army. 

"  The  first  thing,"  said  he,  "  is  to  enlist  more 
soldiers,  and  in  your  kingdom  there  are  a  great  many 
people  who  only  play  the  fool.  You  must  take,"  said 
he,  "  all  the  young  men  without  exception,  and  then 

301 


Mope  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

your  army  will  be  five  times  larger  than  it  was  before. 
The  next  thing  you  must  do  is  to  introduce  new 
weapons  and  firearms.  I  will  supply  you  with  fire- 
arms which  will  fire  off  one  hundred  bullets  a  time  as 
if  they  were  so  many  peas.  And  I  will  supply  you 
with  cannons  which  will  belch  forth  fire  continuously. 
Everything  will  be  burnt  up,  whether  it  be  men,  or 
horses,  or  walls." 

King  Simeon  obeyed  his  new  general,  and  ordered 
all  the  young  men,  one  after  another,  to  be  made  into 
soldiers,  and  introduced  new  gun  factories,  and  they 
turned  out  new  firearms  and  cannons,  and  imme- 
diately declared  war  upon  the  neighbouring  king. 
No  sooner  were  the  armies  face  to  face  than  King 
Simeon  commanded  his  soldiers  to  fire  flames  and 
bullets  out  of  his  guns  and  firearms,  and  immediately 
one  half  of  the  hostile  army  was  crippled  and  con- 
sumed. The  neighbouring  king  was  frightened  and 
submitted,  and  surrendered  his  kingdom. 

Simeon  the  Warrior  was  delighted.  "  And  now," 
said  he,  "  I  will  war  against  the  King  of  India." 

But  the  King  of  India  had  heard  about  Simeon 
the  Warrior,  and  borrowed  from  him  all  his  inven- 
tions, and  added  thereto  still  more  of  his  own.  The 
King  of  India  took  for  soldiers  not  only  all  the  young 
men  but  all  the  unmarried  women  also,  so  he  got 
together  an  army  even  larger  than  the  army  of 
Simeon  the  Warrior ;  and  he  borrowed,  too,  the  ideas 
of  all  his  guns  and  firearms  from  Simeon  the  Warrior, 
and  devised  besides  aerial  machines,  which  should 
hurl  down  mangling  bombs  from  above. 

King  Simeon  and  his  army  therefore  went  against 
302 


The  Stopy  of  Ivan  the  Fool 

the  King  of  India,  and  Simeon  thought  that  he  could 
conquer  as  before,  and  mow  down  everything  before 
him.  But  the  King  of  India  did  not  allow  Simeon 
the  Warrior  to  have  the  first  shot,  but  sent  his  women 
soldiers  up  into  the  air  to  cast  down  mangling  bombs 
on  to  the  army  of  Simeon.  And  the  women  stood 
above  the  army  of  Simeon  like  a  storm  above  a  lot 
of  cockroaches,  and  they  cast  down  bombs  and  dis- 
persed the  whole  army  of  Simeon  the  Warrior  till 
only  Simeon  himself  was  left.  The  Indian  King 
then  seized  the  army  of  Simeon,  and  Simeon  the 
Warrior  fled  from  before  the  eyes  of  men. 

So  the  old  Devil  got  the  better  of  the  elder  brother, 
and  next  he  went  to  King  Taras.  He  turned  him- 
self into  a  merchant,  and  settled  down  in  the  kingdom 
of  Taras  and  began  to  start  business  and  circulate 
money.  The  merchant  gave  a  high  price  for  every- 
thing, and  all  the  people  flocked  to  him  to  make 
money.  And  the  people  made  so  much  money  that 
they  paid  all  their  arrears  of  taxation,  and  all  the 
taxes  due  from  them  were  paid  instantly. 

King  Taras  rejoiced.  "  Thanks  to  this  merchant," 
thought  he,  "  I  shall  now  have  more  money  than  ever, 
and  life  will  be  an  even  better  thing  than  it  was 
before." 

And  King  Taras  began  to  have  new  ideas,  and 
began  to  build  himself  a  new  palace.  And  he  pro- 
claimed to  the  people  that  they  should  bring  him 
timber  and  stone  and  work  for  him,  and  offered  high 
prices  for  everything.  And  King  Taras  fancied  that 
the  people  would  come  flocking  after  his  money  as 
before,  and  work  for  him.      But  behold  !  they  were 

303 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

carrying  all  the  wood  and  all  the  stone  to  the 
merchant,  and  all  the  working  people  were  flocking 
to  him.  King  Taras  offered  still  more,  but  the 
merchant  out-bidded  him.  King  Taras  had  a  lot  of 
money,  but  the  merchant  had  still  more,  and  the 
merchant  prevailed  over  the  King.  The  royal  palace 
was  at  a  standstill ;  it  could  not  be  built.  King  Taras 
laid  out  a  garden.  Autumn  came,  and  King  Taras 
invited  the  people  to  come  and  plant  his  garden  for 
him.  Not  one  of  them  came  ;  they  were  all  engaged 
in  digging  a  pond  for  the  merchant  Winter  came. 
King  Taras  thought  of  buying  sable  skins  to  make 
him  a  new  fur  pelisse.  He  sent  forth  to  buy  some, 
but  his  messenger  came  back  and  told  him  that  there 
were  no  sables  to  be  had — all  the  pelts  were  in  the 
possession  of  the  merchant ;  he  offered  more  for 
them  than  the  King,  and  was  making  carpets  of  the 
sables.  King  Taras  wanted  to  buy  stallions.  He 
sent  out  his  servants  to  buy  some,  but  his  messengers 
came  back  and  said :  All  the  good  stallions  are  at  the 
merchant's,  and  they  are  carrying  water  for  him  to 
fill  his  pond.  All  the  King's  affairs  were  at  a  stand- 
still ;  people  did  nought  for  him  and  did  everything 
for  the  merchant,  and  they  only  brought  him  the 
merchant's  money  to  pay  their  taxes  with. 

And  the  King  had  such  a  heap  of  money  that 
he  knew  not  where  to  stow  it,  and  his  life  was 
wretched.  The  King  ceased  to  plan  great  plans ;  if 
only  he  could  keep  body  and  soul  together  that  was 
enough  for  him  now,  and  even  this  he  could  scarce 
do.  He  was  straitened  in  every  direction.  Even  his 
cook  and  his  coachman  wouldn't  stop  with  him,  but 

304 


The  Stopy  of  Ivan  the  Fool 

went  over  to  the  merchant.  At  last  he  had  not 
enough  victuals  to  feed  himself  with.  He  sent  out 
into  the  bazaar  to  buy  some ;  there  were  none  to  be 
had,  the  merchant  had  bought  them  all  up,  and  all 
the  King  now  had  was  the  money  with  which  they 
paid  the  taxes. 

King  Taras  grew  wroth,  and  banished  the  merchant 
from  his  kingdom.  But  the  merchant  settled  down 
just  outside  his  borders,  and  did  the  same  as  before  : 
everything  to  be  sold  departed  from  the  King  and 
went  after  the  merchant  and  his  money.  The  King 
was  indeed  in  evil  case.  All  day  long  he  had  nothing 
to  eat,  and  the  rumour  spread  that  the  merchant 
boasted  he  would  buy  up  the  King  himself.  King 
Taras  was  afraid,  and  knew  not  what  would  become 
of  him. 

And  now  Simeon  the  Warrior  came  to  him  and 
said :  '*  Help  me,  the  King  of  India  has  conquered 
my  kingdom." 

But  King  Taras  himself  was  in  a  tight  place. 

"  I  have  had  nothing  to  eat  for  two  days,"  said  he. 


XI. 


Thus  the  old  Devil  subdued  the  two  elder  brothers, 
and  now  he  went  on  to  Ivan.  The  old  Devil  turned 
himself  into  a  general,  and  tried  to  persuade  him  to 
raise  an  army.  "  It  becomes  not  a  king  to  live 
without  an  army,"  said  he  ;  "  give  but  the  command 
and  I'll  raise  up  soldiers  for  you  out  of  your  people 
and  make  an  army  for  you." 

Ivan  listened  to  him.  "  All  right ! "  said  he ;  "  let's 
305  U 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

have  an  army,   then,  and  teach  them  to  play  nice 
music  ;  that's  what  I  love." 

And  the  old  Devil  made  the  circuit  of  Ivan's 
kingdom  to  select  volunteers.  And  he  told  them 
all  to  clean  shave,  and  promised  them  a  stoop  of 
vodka  and  a  nice  coloured  cap. 

The  fools  burst  out  laughing.  "We  have  lots  of 
wine  already,"  said  they  ;  "  we  make  it  ourselves,  and 
as  for  caps,  our  old  women  sew  them  together  for  us 
as  many  as  we  like,  nice  variegated  ones,  and  with 
pretty  fringes  into  the  bargain." 

So  not  one  of  them  would  come.  The  old  Devil 
thereupon  went  to  Ivan.  ''Your  fools  won't  come 
willingly,"  said  he,  "we  must  drive  them  to  it  by 
force." 

"  All  right ! "  said  Ivan  ;  "  drive  them  by  force, 
then ! " 

And  the  old  Devil  announced  that  all  the  people 
were  to  come  to  be  enrolled  as  soldiers,  and  whoever 
did  not  come  him  would  Ivan  put  to  death. 

Then  the  fools  came  to  the  general  and  said  : 
"  You  tell  us  that  if  we  do  not  come  to  be  soldiers  the 
King  will  put  us.  to  death,  but  you  do  not  tell  us 
what  will  become  of  us  when  we  are  soldiers.  They 
say  that  soldiers  become  soldiers  to  be  killed,  is  this 
so?" 

"  Yes,  it  cannot  but  be  so." 

When  the  fools  heard  this  they  were  still  more 
obstinate. 

"  We  wont  come,"  said  they.  "  Better  far  to  allow 
ourselves  to  be  killed  at  home.  Death  we  cannot 
avoid  anyhow." 

306 


The  Story  of  Ivan  the  Fool 

"  Fools  that  you  are ! "  said  the  old  Devil ;  "  you 
may  or  may  not  be  killed  if  you  become  soldiers, 
but  if  you  will  not  come,  King  Ivan  will  certainly 
put  you  to  death." 

The  fools  thought  it  well  over,  and  then  they  came 
to  Ivan  the  Fool  and  asked  him  saying :  "  The 
general  has  proclaimed  that  you  have  commanded  us 
all  to  become  soldiers.  *  If  you  go  to  be  soldiers,'  he 
said,  '  you  may  or  you  may  not  be  killed,  but  if  you 
do  not  go.  King  Ivan  will  certainly  put  you  to  death.' 
Is  that  true  ?  " 

Ivan  laughed. 

"  How  can  I,  one  man,  put  all  you  to  death  ?  If 
I  were  not  a  fool  I  would  explain  it  all  to  you,  but 
I  wouldn't  go  myself." 

"  Then  we  will  not  go,"  said  they. 

So  the  fools  went  to  the  general  and  refused  to 
become  soldiers. 

The  old  Devil  saw  that  it  was  no  go,  so  he  went  to 
the  King  of  Tarakan  and  wormed  himself  into  his 
confidence. 

"  Let  us  go,"  said  he,  "  and  conquer  the  kingdom 
of  King  Ivan  ;  the  only  thing  he  hasn't  got  is  money, 
but  he  has  plenty  of  corn  and  cattle  and  other  good 
things." 

So  the  King  of  Tarakan  went  to  war.  He  collected 
a  large  army,  many  firearms,  no  end  of  guns,  crossed 
the  border,  and  entered  the  kingdom  of  Ivan. 

They  came  to  Ivan  and  said :  **  The  King  of 
Tarakan  is  waging  war  upon  us." 

"  All  right,"  said  he,  "  let  him  come  !  " 

The  King  of  Tarakan  crossed  the  border  with  his 
307 


Mope  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

army,  and  sent  forth  his  advance  guard  to  seek 
everywhere  for  the  army  of  Ivan.  They  sought  and 
sought,  but  there  was  no  trace  of  any  army.  They 
waited  and  waited,  but  there  was  no  appearance  of  an 
army  anywhere.  And  the  rumour  spread — there  is 
no  army  and  none  to  fight  with.  The  King  of 
Tarakan  sent  forth  soldiers  to  seize  the  villages. 
The  soldiers  came  to  one  village,  and  all  the  fools, 
male  and  female,  came  rushing  out  to  look  at  the 
soldiers  and  wonder  at  them.  The  soldiers  began  to 
take  away  the  corn  and  cattle  of  the  fools,  and  the 
fools  gave  them  away,  and  none  said  the  soldiers  nay. 
The  soldiers  came  to  another  village,  and  it  was  the 
same  thing  over  again.  They  gave  up  everything, 
none  resisted,  but  called  to  the  soldiers  to  come  and 
live  with  them.  "  If  ye  have  a  bad  time  of  it,  dear 
friends,"  said  they,  "  come  and  live  with  us  altogether." 
The  soldiers  went  on  and  on — there  was  no  army  to 
be  seen,  and  the  whole  people  lived  on  what  they 
produced,  and  fed  themselves  and  all  good  folks,  and 
did  not  resist,  and  called  to  the  soldiers  to  come  and 
live  with  them. 

The  soldiers  found  things  dull,  and  they  came 
back  to  the  King  of  Tarakan  and  said  :  "  There  is  no 
warfare  to  wage  here,  take  us  to  some  other  place. 
Real  war  we  understand,  but  this  is  like  flogging  a 
dead  horse.     We  cannot  wage  war  here  any  more." 

The  King  of  Tarakan  was  angry,  and  he  bade  the 
soldiers  go  through  the  whole  kingdom  and  destroy 
the  villages  and  houses,  and  burn  the  corn  and  kill 
all  the  cattle.  "  If  you  do  not  obey  my  command," 
said  he,  "  I  will  punish  you." 

308 


The  Stopy  of  Ivan  the  Fool 

Then  the  soldiers  were  afraid,  and  they  began  to 
do  their  King's  command.  They  began  to  burn  the 
corn  and  the  houses  and  to  kill  the  cattle.  And  all 
along  the  fools  did  not  resist,  but  only  wept.  The 
old  men  wept,  and  the  old  women  wept,  and  the 
little  children  wept. 

"Why  do  you  harm  us  like  this?"  they  cried. 
"Why  do  you  repay  good  with  evil?  If  you  want  it 
you  had  better  take  it  away  for  yourselves." 

Then  the  soldiers  felt  they  had  had  enough  of  it. 
They  went  no  further,  and  the  whole  army  dispersed. 


XII. 


Then  the  old  Devil  departed — he  had  not  prevailed 
over  Ivan  with  his  soldiers. 

Then  the  old  Devil  turned  himself  into  an  honest 
gentleman,  and  came  to  live  in  the  kingdom  of  Ivan  ; 
he  would  try  to  prevail  over  him  by  means  of  his 
money  as  he  had  prevailed  with  Taras  Big  Paunch. 

"  I  want  to  do  good  to  you,"  said  he ;  "I  want  to 
teach  you  a  thing  or  two.  I  want  to  build  a  house  in 
your  kingdom  and  start  a  business,"  said  he. 

"  All  right !  "  they  said,  "  live  as  you  please." 

The  honest  gentleman  passed  the  night  there,  and 
next  morning  he  went  out  into  the  market-place 
carrying  a  large  basket  full  of  gold  and  leaves  of 
paper,  and  he  said  :  "  You  are  all  living  like  swine,  I 
want  to  teach  you  how  you  ought  to  live.  You  build 
me  a  house  according  to  this  plan.  You  work,  and 
I'll  show  you  how  to  do  it,  and  I'll  pay  you  golden 
coins  for  it."     And  he  showed  them  the  gold. 

309 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

The  fools  were  astonished  :  they  had  no  stores  of 
money  laid  by,  and  they  exchanged  with  each  other 
whatever  things  they  wanted,  and  paid  for  it  by 
labour.     So  they  were  astonished  at  the  gold. 

"  What  nice  counters,"  they  said.  And  they  began 
to  give  the  gentleman  things  in  kind  and  labour  in 
exchange  for  the  gold  pieces. 

The  old  Devil  began  to  circulate  his  gold  as  he 
had  done  in  the  kingdom  of  Taras,  a  nd  all  sorts  of 
things  were  brought  to  him,  and  all  sorts  of  service 
rendered  in  exchange  for  the  gold.  The  old  Devil 
rejoiced,  and  he  thought  to  himself:  "  My  job  is  well 
in  hand  !  I  shall  now  ruin  the  fool  as  I  did  Taras, 
and  buy  him  up  body  and  soul." 

As  soon  as  the  fools  had  got  the  gold  pieces  they 
divided  them  among  the  women  for  necklaces ;  all 
the  girls  plaited  the  coins  in  their  hair,  and  all  the 
children  played  with  them  in  the  street.  All  of  them 
had  such  a  lot  that  they  didn't  want  any  more.  And 
the  gentleman's  big  building  was  not  half  built  yet, 
and  he  had  not  provided  himself  with  corn  and  cattle 
for  a  single  year  yet.  And  the  gentleman  advertised 
for  people  to  come  and  work  for  him  and  bring  him 
corn  and  cattle,  and  he  would  give  them  gold  pieces 
for  everything  they  brought  and  every  bit  of  work 
they  did. 

But  nobody  came  to  work,  and  nobody  brought 
anything.  Only  now  and  then  did  a  little  boy  or 
a  little  girl  come  running  to  exchange  an  egg  for  a 
gold  piece ;  and  at  last  nobody  would  bring  him 
anything  to  eat  at  all.  The  honest  gentleman  grew 
hungry,  and  went  into  a  village  to  buy  himself  some 

310 


The  Stopy  of  Ivan  the  Fool 

dinner.  He  poked  his  nose  into  one  farm  and  offered 
a  gold  piece  for  a  hen,  but  the  woman  of  the  farm 
would  not  take  it.  ''  I  have  got  such  a  lot  of  them/' 
she  said.  He  next  went  to  a  poor  landless  man 
to  buy  a  herring,  and  offered  a  gold  piece  for  it. 
*'  I  don't  want  it,  my  good  man,"  said  he  ;  *'  I  have 
no  children  who  might  like  to  play  with  it,  and  I 
have  already  three  pieces  which  I  am  keeping  as 
curiosities."  Next  he  went  to  a  muzhik  for  some 
bread.  And  the  muzhik  wouldn't  take  the  money. 
"  I  don't  want  it,"  said  he.  ''  But  wait  a  little,  for 
Christ's  sake,  and  I'll  tell  my  old  woman  to  cut  you 
a  slice."  Then  the  Devil  fell  a-spitting,  and  ran 
away  from  the  muzhik.  He  wouldn't  take  anything 
for  Christ's  sake,  not  he — the  very  sound  of  the  word 
was  worse  than  a  knife  to  him. 

So  he  did  not  get  any  bread.  They  had  all  stored 
it  up.  Wherever  the  old  Devil  might  go  nobody 
gave  him  anything  for  money,  and  they  all  said  : 
"  Bring  something  else,  or  come  and  work,  or  take 
this  for  Christ's  sake."  And  the  Devil  had  nothing 
at  all  but  money.  Work  he  could  not,  and  it  was 
impossible  for  him  to  take  anything  for  Christ's  sake. 
The  old  Devil  grew  very  wroth.  *'  What  else  do  you 
want  when  I  give  you  money?"  said  he.  **You  can 
buy  everything  for  gold,  and  can  hire  every  sort  of  work- 
ing man."     The  fools,  however,  did  not  listen  to  him. 

"  No,"  said  they,  ''  we  don't  want  it.  They  require 
no  payments  or  taxes  from  us — what  do  we  want 
with  money  ?  " 

So  the  old  Devil  lay  down  to  sleep  without  any 
supper. 

311 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

The  news  of  the  affair  came  to  the  ears  of  Ivan  the 
Fool.  The  people  came  to  him  and  inquired,  saying  : 
"  What  are  we  to  do  ?  An  honest  gentleman  has 
appeared  among  us,  and  he  likes  to  eat  and  drink 
comfortably,  and  he  likes  to  dress  nicely,  but  he  wont 
work,  and  he  won't  ask  for  anything  in  Christ's  name, 
and  he  does  nothing  but  give  golden  pieces  to  every- 
one. Formerly  we  gave  him  everything  we  could 
put  our  hands  upon,  and  now  we  give  no  more. 
What  are  we  to  do  with  him  ?  He  may  die  of 
hunger." 

Ivan  listened  to  them  attentively.  "  Well,  I 
suppose  we  must  feed  him,"  said  he.  "  Let  him  go 
about  from  house  to  house  as  the  shepherds  do." 

So  the  old  Devil  had  nothing  for  it  but  to  go 
about  from  house  to  house. 

At  last  it  became  the  turn  of  Ivan's  house  to 
receive  him.  The  old  Devil  came  to  dine,  and  Ivan's 
dumb  wench  was  getting  the  dinner  ready.  The 
lazier  ones  used  often  to  deceive  her.  Those  who 
did  not  work  used  to  come  earliest  to  dinner  and 
eat  up  all  the  pottage.  And  the  dumb  wench  artfully 
tried  to  discover  the  loafers  by  their  hands  :  who- 
ever had  hard  and  horny  hands  to  him  she  gave  a 
full  fresh  meal,  and  whoever  had  not  hard  hands  to 
him  she  gave  scraps.  The  old  Devil  crept  behind 
the  table,  and  the  dumb  wench  seized  him  by  the 
hand  to  see  whether  his  hand  was  hard  and  horny, 
and  his  hands  were  clean  and  smooth  and  his  nails 
were  long.  Then  the  dumb  wench  began  to  make  a 
racket,  and  dragged  the  Devil  away  from  the  table. 

And  Ivan's  wife  said  to  him  :  "  Don't  howl,  my 
312 


The  Stopy  of  Ivan  the  Fool 

pretty  gentleman  ;  at  our  house  my  sister-in-law 
only  lets  those  with  horny  hands  sit  down  to  table. 
Wait  a  bit  till  the  others  have  eaten  their  fill,  and 
then  you  can  come  and  eat  what  they  have  left." 

And  the  old  Devil  was  offended  because  the  King 
wanted  him  to  feed  with  swine.  And  he  said  to 
Ivan :  "  Little  fool  that  you  are,  you  have  a  law  in 
your  kingdom  that  all  people  must  work  with  their 
hands.  This  you  have  devised  from  sheer  stupidity. 
Is  it  only  with  their  hands  that  people  work }  Have 
you  ever  reflected  with  what  intelligent  people 
work.?" 

And  Ivan  said :  "  How  should  we  fools  get  to 
know  it  ?  We  always  work  with  our  hands  and  with 
our  bent  backs." 

"That's  because  you  are  fools.  But  I,"  said  he, 
*^will  teach  you  how  to  work  with  your  head,  and 
then  you  will  know  that  it  is  far  more  profitable  to 
work  with  your  head  than  with  your  hands." 

Ivan  was  astonished.  "  Indeed  ! "  said  he,  "  not  in 
vain,  then,  are  we  called  fools." 

And  the  old  Devil  said :  "  Only  it  is  not  easy," 
said  he,  "  to  work  with  your  head.  You  do  not  give  me 
to  eat  simply  because  my  hands  are  not  horny,  and 
yet  you  don't  know  that  it  is  a  hundred  times  more 
laborious  to  work  with  your  head.  Why,  it  makes 
your  head  ache  like  anything  if  you  stick  to  it." 

Ivan  was  astonished.  "Why  then  torment  your- 
self so,  my  dear  friend  ?  "  said  he.  "  Is  it  so  light  a 
matter  to  make  your  head  ache  so?  Far  better, 
surely,  to  do  the  little  sort  of  work,  with  your  hands 
and  your  bent  back  .?  " 

313 


Mope  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

And  the  Devil  said :  "  I  bother  my  head  about 
it  because  I  am  so  sorry  for  you,  you  fools.  If  I  did 
not  bother  myself  you  would  be  fools  all  your  life 
long.  But  I  work  a  bit  with  my  head,  and  I'll  now 
teach  you  to  do  the  same." 

Ivan  was  astonished.  "Teach  away,  then,"  said 
he,  "and  my  hands  will  die  a  second  time,  as  you  are 
going  to  swop  them  for  my  head." 

And  the  Devil  promised  to  teach  him. 

And  Ivan  proclaimed  through  his  kingdom  that 
the  nice,  honest  gentleman  would  come  and  teach 
everyone  how  to  work  with  his  head,  and  how  to 
work  out  very  much  more  with  the  head  than  with 
the  hands,  and  they  were  all  to  come  and  be  taught. 

And  a  high  watch-tower  was  erected  in  Ivan's 
kingdom,  and  a  straight  staircase  leading  up  to  it, 
and  on  the  top  of  it  was  a  belvedere.  And  Ivan 
took  the  gentleman  up  there  that  he  might  be  seen  by 
all. 

So  the  gentleman  went  up  into  the  watch-tower 
and  began  to  speak  from  there.  And  the  fools 
gathered  together  to  look  on.  The  fools  thought 
that  the  gentleman  was  actually  going  to  show  them 
how  to  work  with  the  head  without  the  hands.  But 
the  old  Devil  only  taught  them  with  words  how  it 
was  possible  to  go  on  living  without  working. 

The  fools  understood  not  a  word.  They  stared, 
and  stared,  and  then  went  about  their  business. 

The  old  Devil  stood  all  day  on  the  watch-tower ; 
he  stood  there  all  through  the  second  day,  and  he 
talked  the  whole  time.  He  would  have  very  much 
liked  something  to  eat,  but  the  fools  had  no  idea  of 

314 


The  Stopy  of  Ivan  the  Fool 

this,  so  they  brought  no  bread  to  him  on  the  top 
of  the  watch-tower.  They  thought  that  if  he  could 
work  so  much  better  with  his  head  than  with  his 
hands,  it  would  be  a  mere  trifle  for  him  to  earn 
himself  some  bread  with  his  head.  So  the  old 
Devil  continued  standing  on  the  watch-tower  all 
through  the  second  day,  talking  all  the  time.  And 
the  people  went  to  look  at  him,  and  when  they  had 
looked  their  fill  they  came  away. 

"  Well ! "  asked  Ivan,  "  has  the  gentleman  begun  to 
work  with  his  head  ?  " 

''  Not  yet,"  they  said  ;  "  he  hasn't  left  off  chattering 

yet." 

The  old  Devil  remained  on  the  watch-tower  for 
yet  another  day,  and  he  began  to  get  weak;  he 
staggered  once  or  twice,  and  knocked  his  head 
against  a  post.  One  of  the  fools  saw  this  and  told  it 
to  Ivan's  wife,  and  Ivan's  wife  ran  out  to  her  husband 
into  the  field  where  he  was  ploughing. 

"Come!"  said  she,  ''and  look;  they  say  that ^ the 
gentleman  has  now  begun  to  work  with  his  head." 
Ivan  was  astonished. 

"  Well,  come,"  said  he,  and  he  turned  the  horse's 
head  and  went  to  the  watch-tower.  They  came  to 
the  watch-tower,  and  by  that  time  the  old  Devil  was 
quite  weak  in  the  head,  and  began  to  totter  and 
knock  his  head  against  the  post  again  and  again. 
Ivan  had  no  sooner  come  to  the  place  than  the  Devil 
stumbled,  fell,  and  came  thundering  down  the  stair- 
case, knocking  his  head  against  every  single  step  on 
his  way  down,  as  if  he  wanted  to  count  them  all. 
"Well!"  said  Ivan,  "  the  honest  gentleman  spoke  the 
315 


More  Tales  from  Tolstoi 

truth  when  he  said  that  next  time  he  would  make  his 
uead  ache.  Why,  horny  hands  are  nothing  to  this  ; 
work  of  this  sort  would  pretty  soon  give  one  lumps 
on  the  head."  And  Ivan  would  have  gone  to  see 
if  much  work  had  been  done,  when  suddenly  the 
ground  opened  and  the  old  Devil  plunged  through 
the  earth — only  a  hole  remained. 

Ivan  scratched  his  head.  "  Ugh !  the  filthy 
creature !  So  it  is  he  again,  eh  !  Like  children,  like 
father — Fm  well  rid  of  him  !  " 

And  Ivan  is  living  to  this  day,  and  all  the  people 
crowded  into  his  kingdom,  and  his  brothers  came  to 
him,  and  he  fed  them.  Any  who  like  may  come  and 
say  :  "  Feed  us  ! "  "  All  right ! "  says  Ivan, "  live  with 
us  ;  we  have  plenty  of  everything."  There  is  only  one 
settled  custom  in  his  kingdom  :  those  who  have  horny 
hands  sit  at  table,  and  those  who  have  not  must  eat 
the  scraps. 


THE   END. 


316 


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